


Because One Lifetime With You Wouldn't Be Enough

by ambiguous_sanskars



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: A little bit of angst, BAMF Andromache, BAMF Nicolo, BAMF Yusuf, Brief OCs for Plot Purposes, Canon-Typical Violence, Catholic Guilt TM (because Nicolo), Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Found Family, Lots of kissing, M/M, Nicolo and Yusuf love each other so much, Old Married Couple, Pre-Canon, Romantic Fluff, Slight Anachronisms, Slight Canon Divergence, You Have Been Warned, but human old not 900 years old, but i tried, cool weapons, crusades era, in that Quynh is lost before Nicolo and Yusuf find Andromache, including a pigeon, maybe more than slight if you're a history geek, mostly in flashbacks, projecting my desire to write soppy romantic poetry onto Yusuf, we only serve happy endings in this house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguous_sanskars/pseuds/ambiguous_sanskars
Summary: Nicolo and Yusuf's quiet life together is shattered when their past catches up to them one foggy night. With nowhere left to go, they flee to Greece to find the woman that keeps appearing in their dreams.She has answers for them. They have something for her, too - hope.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 82
Kudos: 274





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is a nice slice-of-life morning in the Nicolo/Yusuf household. There's banter, love, kissing, and also an anonymous pigeon. Enjoy the fluff my dudes because shit will soon hit the fan, I promise.

A shadow flitted over the weak sunlight trickling in through the open window. On the cot across the room, Nicolo stirred.

Yusuf’s arm was warm across his waist, knees tucked behind his, and Nicolo could feel his beloved’s sleep-softened breaths on the back of his neck. The hypnotically steady rise and fall of his chest had nearly lulled Nicolo back to sleep when the shadow cut the dawnlight again.

Nicolo blinked the sleep out of his eyes, and through the haze of preconscious thought, felt his hand curl around the hilt of the _bichuwa_ under his pillow. The dagger was a particularly interesting one, named for its resemblance to the curved stinger of a scorpion. Yusuf had procured it for him years ago from a visiting Indian merchant who had informed him that, while excellent for hand-to-hand-combat, anyone trying to throw the _bichuwa_ like a projectile may just as well try tossing a piece of parchment to their lover across a raging battlefield. Yusuf had grinned at that.

Nicolo, as it would happen, could throw the _bichuwa_ with impeccable aim.

Suddenly, something swooped through the window, toppling a pretty glass vase from the sill with a jarring crash. Nicolo sat up sharply, hand pressing lightly into Yusuf’s chest, dagger poised for defense as he scanned the room. Next to him, Yusuf’s eyes flew open, his arms grappling at Nicolo’s tunic.

“Wass’appening,” he demanded, shaking his head to clear it. He blinked at the dagger in Nicolo’s hand and the shattered glass on the floor. Alertness hit him like a bucket of ice water. “Who-” 

“Shhh!”

Nicolo was engaged in a rather intense stand-off with the intruder, who happened to be a wayward rock dove searching for breakfast on the wrong side of town. It perched precariously on the edge of a wooden shelf, eyeing Nicolo and his fancy dagger with great suspicion.

“Oh, for God’s sake…” Yusuf flopped dramatically back onto the pillow. Nicolo took a second to glare at him before setting the weapon down and slowly, gently approaching the frightened bird.

“There, there, love. You’re okay-”

“Love, he says!”

“You’re alright,” Nicolo murmured to the bird, pointedly ignoring Yusuf. “Come on. We’re going to get you out of here, okay? There you go.” The creature stepped gingerly onto his outstretched hand, now regarding Nicolo with that easy trust all living things seemed to develop around him. Yusuf couldn’t help the indulgent smile that melted across his face. He watched the love of his life carry the pigeon to the window and send it along with a quiet word. Pulling the quilt up to his chin, he sighed happily, letting his eyes fall closed.

Nicolo sidestepped the shards of glass by the window and reached for a broom.

“Yusuf, _destati_.” No response. “Yusuf. _Destati_. The sun is up.”

“Don’t know Italian,” Yusuf lied into the pillow. Nicolo rolled his eyes.

“You’d deny your own mother tongue if I told you to wake up in it.” He finished sweeping up the glass and crossed over to the bed. “Yusuf,” he insisted, trying to sound irritated and missing by a mile, even to his own ears. Giving up, he ran his fingers through his beloved’s hair in a careless yet somehow worshipful gesture. Yusuf opened his eyes.

“ _Amore mio_.” He grinned. It had been nearly twenty years since they’d made the joint decision to leave their respective military camps in the dead of night, meeting up one month later at a discreet riverbank to ensure that they weren’t being tracked. The first few years together had been a constant game of looking over their shoulders, wary of friend and foe alike since they’d broken rank. They never stayed in one place for too long, drifting from inns to monasteries to caravans to nomadic tribes who agreed to take them in.

Twice they were found by militants of Yusuf’s side and killed on the spot. That hadn’t been a problem; they’d quickly returned the favor and fled. Once, they were captured in their sleep by one of Nicolo’s, a particularly vile crusader who believed he’d been sent to “put the fear of God into them.” The ensuing month in captivity had been rather more of a problem. Nicolo slept _extremely_ lightly ever since.

Finally, after ten years on the run, they’d more or less settled in Mokka, a tiny, obscure village south of the Mediterranean. They ran a tea stall out of their home, an edge-of-town flat that they’d rented at first, and then, as more time passed without anyone from their past lives making an appearance, they’d bought. 

“Oh, so now you know Italian,” Nicolo grumbled, trying and failing to wrestle the soft smile off his face. His hand stayed in Yusuf’s hair. How he loved this man. “We do have to open the shop, you know. People will be waiting. And we have a shipment of _kahve_ beans coming in from Yemen today, remember?”

Yusuf grunted, making a credible effort to sit up. “Do you want me to go to the bazaar and pick it up?”

“Not necessary. It’s arriving during rush hour, so Ayaan said he’d bring it over for us. He said he was going to be near the bazaar anyway. By the docks.”

Yusuf smiled, understanding. “Ah…with Sifar, then? They’re finally together?” 

“Not officially. Too risky. But yeah, something like that.” Nicolo paused, a distant expression crossing his face, one Yusuf had long come to realize heralded a sincere, if unnecessarily cryptic, word or two of wisdom. All things die, or some such nonsense.

“What?” he prompted, when Nicolo had gone quiet for too long.

“Hmm?”

“I can hear you thinking, but can’t hear what. Tell me?”

“How fragile-” _human love is_ , Nicolo thought. _How unfortunate that it cannot last long enough to matter. And how great our blessing of more time, how cruel that it cannot possibly be enough. No amount of time with you could be enough._

Nicolo very carefully cut the words off as they threatened to spill from his lips in response to Yusuf’s questioning gaze. He suddenly had the eerie feeling that saying them would attract the wrong attention. Which was ridiculous, really. There was nothing to suggest that their current situation was even remotely tenuous.

Instead, he leaned down and kissed his beloved, slowly, achingly, with everything he had. He brought his hands up to gently cradle Yusuf’s head. Yusuf tilted his face up into the kiss, putting one arm around Nicolo’s waist to steady himself as he braced his elbow against their pillow. Nicolo tenderly pressed further into Yusuf's mouth, yearning to give more, fighting to make what time they had enough.

Yusuf whimpered, tightening his fist in Nicolo’s tunic. The small, irritating part of his brain that was still functional was trying to sound an alarm. Something about this kiss was different. Something was…wrong? No, that wasn’t it. Had Nicolo answered his question earlier? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t even remember what he’d asked. God, he was so lost for this man. Twenty years and he hadn’t habituated in the slightest to the taste of his lips on his, the feel of his hand in his hair. He doubted it would ever cease to thrill him like this, beyond words, beyond thought.

Nicolo pulled away slowly, too soon, with such intense longing that Yusuf almost cried out for him. He realized with a start that his own eyes were damp with tears. Nicolo, if he noticed, made no comment.

“Come outside, _habibi_. Say your prayers. I’ll get breakfast ready, and then we’ll open for the day, hmm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this instead of writing medical school secondaries. Send help.
> 
> Shout out to my little sister, the resident TOG gremlin in my room, for the prompt: "Cuddly Nicky and Joe + them saving Andy, impressing her enough that she lets them join the family. Must have multiple chapters."
> 
> Next update on Wednesday!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf and Nicolo spend the day running their tea stall. Yusuf wows the patrons with a few heartfelt words about the love of his life, and we get a glimpse into the angst in Nicolo's head about what happened when they were on the run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I looked over my draft and realized that shit doesn't actually hit the fan until chapter 3, so thought I'd speed up the updates for those of y'all who are in this for the plot. For now, have some internal conflict.
> 
> Also, probably should've mentioned this last chapter but _kahve_ is just a crusaders-era spelling for what we'd now call coffee.

Yusuf stood behind the counter of their tea stall, ladling out cups of the fragrant, golden concoction for the small crowd of laborers, apprentices, merchants, and homemakers gathered near the benches. He smiled warmly as he exchanged the cups for coin, but it came as a surprise to absolutely no one that his attention was largely elsewhere.

A short distance away, Nicolo heaved the _kahve_ sacks onto his shoulders, ferrying them from Ayaan’s cart to the storage shed. He’d told Ayaan to come back for the cart later in the evening, and the latter had happily obliged, strolling off hand in hand with a beaming Sifar. They were good kids, Nicolo thought. Headstrong. Unafraid. It took a lot of courage to choose to love someone of another faith in this time and place. But then again, perhaps it wasn’t really a choice. Perhaps it was destiny.

Yusuf studied the strain in Nicolo’s muscles as he picked up two sacks at once, balancing one on each shoulder. There was a streak of brown across his tunic where crushed _kahve_ beans had chafed through the burlap. Sweat pearled on his forehead as he moved between the sun and shade.

“Like the phases of the moon,” Yusuf heard himself say. “From light to darkness and back again. Tireless, like the progression of time itself. My all, may Allah forgive me. My everything. My life, my death, my infinite.”

There was a smattering of applause and scattered praise from the stall’s patrons, who’d grown quite accustomed to being made an unwitting audience for Yusuf’s impromptu poetry. Nicolo glanced over his shoulder at the commotion, the corners of his mouth curling up in a delicate smirk. He hadn’t heard what Yusuf said, but catching his eye, Nicolo gave him a flirtatious wink that should have made him blush to the roots of his hair. Instead, Yusuf’s chest heaved in a staggered breath, and he took a helpless step towards Nicolo before remembering himself and stumbling to a stop.

Nicolo turned away quickly, busying himself with the _kahve_ sacks. The people of Mokka, especially those that frequented their shop, harbored no illusions about the nature of their relationship; this had been one of the few places where they hadn’t had to keep it a secret. Their patrons tolerated, even appreciated, the romantic splashes of poetry that overflowed from Yusuf’s generous heart. But Nicolo seldom touched Yusuf in front of them, and never anything more intimate than a held hand or fleeting caress.

It was no longer because he was ashamed or afraid to acknowledge his feelings in public, though that had surely, regrettably, been the case during their initial years on the run. Decades of indoctrination had forced Nicolo to believe that what he felt for Yusuf was unnatural, corrupted, disgraceful. It had taken time, but Nicolo had figured it out. Figured out that if, when he weighed eternal damnation in hell against his love for Yusuf, and found the latter heavier still, then that love couldn’t possibly be anything other than divine. Gradually, he’d become more and more open with his affections, unafraid to let others see. After all, what could they do? Kill them?

But in the end, it was Nicolo’s carelessness that had gotten them captured. Thinking back, he could see it clearly. The rogue crusader had been at the inn when Nicolo and Yusuf arrived, hands clasped conspicuously between them. He had likely seen Nicolo pay for a single room. Perhaps he had followed them as Nicolo gently held Yusuf against the wall in a seemingly empty corridor, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. And later that night, when a spent Yusuf had fallen asleep in his arms, Nicolo had neglected to stay awake and keep watch. He had let his guard down, unforgivably so, and the enemy had taken full advantage.

So now Nicolo doggedly refused to trust anyone with Yusuf’s vulnerability, with the true tender intimacy of their love. He had fought hard for it, wrenching it from the cold grip of his own bigotry, and he would not see it become a plaything for the demons of their past, disguised though they may be as friends. He’d beseeched Yusuf to understand, to keep his distance in public, to let Nicolo atone by protecting him in this twisted way.

And somehow, Yusuf had understood. He’d understood that this wasn’t Nicolo pushing him away, being insecure, hiding their love like a secret in the dark. He’d understood, if vehemently disagreed, with the guilt buried like shrapnel in Nicolo’s chest. And he’d complied ever since, in forcibly halted footsteps, hands abruptly pulled away, and yearning looks followed by nothing more than gentle smiles, appeasing lips that should be besieged with kisses. 

It all made Nicolo’s heart reel, and he turned away before the intensity of his love drove him to make any more mistakes. He occupied himself with the handful of loose _kahve_ beans on the floor, tracing them to a tear in one of the sacks’ seams and rebinding the frayed ends of the burlap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be sad I promise they kiss in the next chapter.
> 
> I made great progress writing this as I continued to ignore my real-life work, so we're still on for an update on Wednesday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf and Nicolo close up shop for the evening and cuddle. Nicolo leaves to run a quick errand and runs into something else entirely. Something very, very unwelcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dudes, here is your Wednesday update. As promised, there is kissing. But also TW for canon-typical violence and the beginnings of a panic attack.
> 
> Also side note: wow, thanks for the kudos and comments! Great to have y'all here!

The sun dipped below the Western horizon. In the fading light, Yusuf chatted with the last of the evening patrons as Nicolo wiped down the tea counter with a rag. By the time the guests left, grays had begun to replace the pinks of the clouds, and Yusuf turned to find the stall empty.

He retraced his steps to their home, finding Nicolo pulling cups out of the washbasin and setting them out to dry. Yusuf wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. Nicolo tutted disapprovingly.

“Yusuf-”

“I missed you.”

Nicolo’s hands stilled in the basin before resuming their task. He chuckled.

“Me, too. It is the strangest thing. We are within 20 meters of each other all day, and yet…” He dried his hands on his tunic, turning to rest them on Yusuf’s hips. He nudged Yusuf’s face up with his own, pressing his lips lovingly to his forehead, then to each of his closed eyes, then to his cheek, and finally to his lips in a chaste kiss. When Nicolo pulled back, Yusuf made a small noise of protest and followed, bringing their lips together again and again in an endless series of soft kisses that left Nicolo’s heart racing.

When they decided they’d rather not take advantage of their immortality by putting off breathing to the death, they broke apart, laughing. Nicolo rubbed his hand absently up and down Yusuf’s side.

“Has Ayaan come to collect his cart yet?”

“It looks like he’s running late.” Yusuf’s eyes twinkled as he rested his forehead against Nicolo’s. He felt Nicolo take his hand, twining their fingers together. He suddenly wanted to say so much to this man, to compare the color of his eyes to the sea in a tempest, the softness of his hands to new lotus petals, the sound of his laughter to heavenly music - but the words stuck in his throat as he watched every single metaphor fall woefully short of his beloved’s worth. “ _Ti amo_ ,” Yusuf managed, voice rough with emotion. “My life, my death, my infinite. _Ti amo_.”

In reply, Nicolo wrapped a hand behind his head and kissed him deeply, with such sacrosanct passion that Yusuf felt his knees buckle and his vision go white.

“Yusuf, listen,” Nicolo said as he pulled away, what might have equally likely been minutes or years later, for all Yusuf could discern. “It’s getting dark. I don’t want Ayaan to have to walk all the way here from the docks. I’ll take his cart and try to meet him midway, alright? I’ll return before dinner’s ready.”

“Go carefully,” Yusuf entreated as soon as he regained control of his vocal cords.

“Of course, _habibi_. I’ll be back in no time.”

As it were, Nicolo walked almost the entire way to the docks before running into a giggling Ayaan and Sifar, love-drunk and enroute to drop each other home. Ayaan, instantly apologetic for forgetting about the cart, took the reins from Nicolo and thanked him profusely for taking care of his mule. Nicolo watched as they walked away. At the turn of the street, Sifar paused to wrestle the reins from a laughing Ayaan, swinging him onto the cart so he could ride the rest of the way home.

_Home_ , Nicolo thought. _Yusuf_. Other than the clergy (or perhaps including them), Yusuf had been Nicolo’s only real family. He knew Yusuf had had a family before they met: a wife, a daughter, and a son who’d been only a baby when the crusades swept through their town. He would be in his thirties now, Nicolo realized with a jolt.

Yusuf had arranged for them to evacuate with the family elders, while he stayed behind to fight. The first time Nicolo had seen his face, he’d been looking into the eyes of a dying man, slowly wasting away on the sword Nicolo had just skewered him with. Of all the people he’d killed, Nicolo would remember those eyes. They haunted him in his dreams for another five years until he found himself face to face with the same man in a different battle, in the ruins of a different town, the air rent with different screams. Nicolo had frozen in shock. He’d had plenty of opportunities up until then to confirm that he himself could not be killed, but as this adversary wrapped a vengeful hand behind his head and slit his throat, something about it felt permanent. Nicolo closed his eyes, remembering his God and accepting that it was his time.

Except that it hadn’t been. He’d woken up disoriented, the battle raging around him, the familiar face nowhere to be seen.

Nicolo shook his head, bringing himself back to the present as he gazed out to the docks. He easily understood why Ayaan and Sifar had stayed out so late; it was a soothing night, breeze humming with the low roar of the waves, the cool, sea-salted fog hanging heavy in the air. If only he’d asked Yusuf to come along.

He stared dreamily at the anchored ships, letting his mind go blank as his eyes adjusted. His thoughts gradually wandered back to the flat, heart singing with gratitude for the life waiting for him there.

Unexpectedly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Now able to see through the dark fog, Nicolo refocused on a movement in his visual field. At a distance, a docked ship had dropped a ladder, and people were climbing down into rowboats. Nicolo narrowed his eyes. With visceral shock, he recognized the St. George’s Cross painted in red onto the hull of the ship. That same crusaders’ mark echoed from the capes of the people - _oh, no, at least sixty of them, armed with longswords and crossbows and battle axes_ \- who were clambering onto the beach, who looked like him, all pale skin and sickly hair and eyes like smoke-polluted skies.

_Not again_ , Nicolo prayed, his spine turning to ice. _Please, God, not again, not another town, not Ayaan and Sifar, not Yusuf, oh God, not Yusuf_ -

For a moment, he stood rooted to the spot, blood roaring in his ears. Then he turned and ran like Hell itself was after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicolo needs a hug, and he gets it in the next chapter.
> 
> Next update goes up on Friday!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolo tells Yusuf about the crusader ship, and together, the two of them decide on a plan to protect the people of Mokka and themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a soft chapter filled with comfort, emotional support, and resilience! TW for the rest of the panic attack at the beginning though.

“YUSUF!”

Yusuf startled so hard he flipped the wooden spoon out of the pan he’d been stirring, wincing as a piece of hot sautéed eggplant landed on his forearm. As he made to wipe it off with a cool towel, he suddenly registered that the anguished cry had been Nicolo’s. Yusuf dropped the towel and ran out of the kitchen, catching Nicolo as he threw himself through the front door. His face was deathly white, his skin ice-cold to Yusuf’s touch.

“ _Yusuf_ ,” Nicolo nearly sobbed, setting off every possible alarm in Yusuf’s head as he clung to him with desperation. “Please, we have to go, now, right now, get your books and charcoals-”

“ _Amore_ , wait-”

“NO! N- no, please, you don’t understand, they- you- we have to go, there’s no time-” Nicolo jerked out of Yusuf’s grip, turning to retch violently onto the floor. Yusuf immediately knelt next to him, brushing his hair back with one hand and rubbing his back with the other. Nicolo gasped for breath, reaching blindly for his beloved. “Y- Yusuf…”

“ _Sono qui. Sono qui._ ”

They stayed that way for several minutes, Yusuf pressed bodily against a shaking Nicolo, whispering endless reassurances into his ear. Eventually, Nicolo’s breathing began to even out. Better, Yusuf observed. He’d had no qualms staying like that all night if that was what it took. Gradually, he stood up and half-carried Nicolo to their cot, guiding him to sit against the wall. He shook out their wool blanket and gently wrapped it around Nicolo’s shoulders.

“Water,” Yusuf explained, pulling away slowly. “Let me get you water. I’ll only be a second, my love, my all. I’ll be right back.”

When he returned, Nicolo was hunched over, knees pulled to his chest. He accepted the cup with trembling hands, gulping it down as Yusuf settled beside him. With tremendous effort, Yusuf pushed aside the terror in his chest, willing himself to be there for Nicolo without expecting answers. The last thing he needed right now was an interrogation.

Nicolo’s warm hands found his, and Yusuf turned to see bloodshot eyes holding his own.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to…” Nicolo gestured vaguely. “Do that.”

Yusuf shook his head rapidly, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. He pressed his lips to Nicolo’s knuckles.

“Are you okay?” he asked hoarsely. 

“The crusaders. They’re here.”

The wind left Yusuf’s lungs in a rush. “Here?”

“At the docks.”

“How many?”

“At least sixty.”

There was a gravid pause.

“And the ones who got away. When we escaped. Last time. Are they with them?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Do you think they’re coming for- I mean, could they know we’re here? Or is this a strategic attack on…Mokka, for whatever reason?”

Nicolo scoffed dryly. “Nothing strategic about it, is there? Small town. Negligible Islamic population. It’s not even a good port city.” He tipped his head back against the wall, willing the fresh tears in his eyes to recede. “There are too many of them. Yusuf, I can’t let us get captured again.”

“Just to be clear, you didn’t ‘let’ anything happen last time-”

“I can’t bear them hurting you. I know I always say that immortality is a gift from God, but the last time we were captured, I learned it was also a curse. How cruel it is to love someone and not be able to die for them. What am I worth, if I watched what they did to you then, and still lived?”

“Enough,” Yusuf cut, pressing a staying hand to his beloved’s chest. “They tortured you too, _amore mio_. And trust me when I say that that will never, _never_ , happen again.” He moved to stand up.

“Where are you going?”

“Standard evacuation measures are best initiated under the cover of dark. I’ll arrange for the people of Mokka’s exodus. They are not the targets of this attack; they’ll be safe traveling on foot with one of the caravans that arrived today.”

“We can’t endanger them by going along.”

“Obviously. We’re going to the docks.”

“What? But that’s-”

“To stow away, not fight. La Seynte Elpída sails for Greece at dawn.”

Nicolo considered that for a moment. “Okay. That could work. Why Greece?”

“The dreams,” Yusuf replied instantly. “It’s a sign. I- I think we’re meant to find her. Like we found each other.”

Nicolo remembered dreaming about Yusuf long before he’d first run a longsword through him that fateful battle. Later, Yusuf had told him that he’d dreamt of him too, and that it had stopped once they’d run away together. Nicolo wondered at that. He never stopped dreaming about Yusuf.

A few years after arriving in Mokka, however, Nicolo had jolted awake in the middle of the night, gasping for breath as the illusory iron cage and cold, dark water faded around him. He’d seen a woman drowning, over and over again. He waited to tell Yusuf about it in the morning, only to find him hunched over the breakfast table, sketching the very face he’s seen in his nightmare. But in the picture, the woman was happy. She was sitting in a grassy meadow, flowers in her hair and an ornate recurve bow resting across her lap. She seemed to be smirking good-naturedly at someone just outside of the picture.

“I think it’s a flashback,” Yusuf had surmised. “I’ve seen what you saw, too. I thought it was a one-time thing, a random nightmare. But then I saw her again, in the life she had before, and I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence.”

Occasionally, they’d dreamed of another woman. In the dreams, she was often fighting. Almost always mourning. Sometimes, running. She wielded a large, strangely shaped axe in battle. She’d been killed in different ways: by hanging, by fire, by executioner. None of them had stuck. In the past three months, the dreams had gotten much more frequent; Nicolo had dreamt of her almost every night. He’d been convinced that she was another immortal, like them.

It wasn’t until Yusuf had seen a similar axe at the bazaar one day that he’d learned that it was of Greek origin, an antique weapon that appeared in legends about the ancient gods. It was their first and only lead.

Nicolo threw off the blanket wearily. “Alright. You’re right. We should do that. Let’s go to Greece.”

Yusuf grinned warmly. “I’ll get you something to eat, and then go help with the evacuation. Is just some bread okay? I’m afraid our dinner has been burnt beyond salvaging. I was making your favorite, _amore_. Eggplant with potatoes.”

Nicolo stepped forward without warning and pulled Yusuf into an embrace, cupping the back of his head and pressing a long kiss to his temple. He felt Yusuf sigh deeply into his shoulder, arms tightening around his waist, pulling them even closer. Nicolo inhaled the scent of cumin and ginger in Yusuf’s hair, feeling lightheaded with hunger and stress and exhaustion and overwhelming, ruinous love.

“Don’t do anything stupid. If you see one of them, either kill them without hesitation or run. Please.”

“The only reason immortality means anything to me is because I get to share it with you. I won’t do anything that will take me away from you. I swear it on our life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright woohoo big pat on the back to these two men for handling difficult situations/emotions with maturity and unconditional support. Now for them to put their plan into action.
> 
> The next chapter is on the shorter side so I might actually end up posting that tomorrow. If I can't get to it for some reason, I'll come back and edit this to say Sunday.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf helps the people of Mokka escape under the cover of dark. Nicolo locates the intended ship and reflects on their past while he waits for Yusuf. But before Yusuf can reach him, a fight breaks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dudes! Here's today's update, TW for descriptions of canon-typical violence.
> 
> Btw thanks for all the love this story's been getting! Y'all are awesome and I appreciate you <3

Nicolo crept up behind La Seynte Elpída and propped himself up on a molding crate, out of view of the crusaders still littering the beach. He looked back toward the town of Mokka, supposedly asleep and unbeknown to the blind destruction morning would bring. He fought down another wave of nausea. How many such sleeping towns had he himself razed to the ground, barely a few decades ago? 

But tonight, Mokka was not asleep. Nothing _seemed_ out of the ordinary; Nicolo wouldn’t even have noticed if he hadn’t known what to look for. But in the distance, blurry torchlights were moving, multiplying, as people awakened each other with soft, urgent whispers, silently packing rations and gathering sleeping children bundled in wool blankets, making their way to the caravans lined up at the town’s edge. They’d probably done this before, Nicolo realized with a pang. Yusuf certainly had. So much so, in fact, that they were _good_ at it.

In his nearly 70 years of life, Nicolo had always, _always_ , fought for what he believed was right. He had been utterly sincere in his vows as a Catholic priest, pledging his life to celibacy, self-denial, and unquestioning service to God. He’d truly believed that by baptising and converting people, he was saving their souls from eternal damnation. So when he’d been given chainmail and a longsword and ordered to "go rid God’s chosen land of barbarians," he’d considered himself blessed.

However, Nicolo wasn’t an idiot. As he picked through the ashy ruins of the first village they’d raided, faint seeds of doubt started to take root. Surely there was no need to kill children, was there? He forced the thought out of his mind. Maybe there was. He couldn’t assume he knew better than the High Priests, that his righteousness was closer to God than theirs. It was blasphemy. It was eternity in Hell, for him and all those he loved.

The third time he’d found Yusuf in battle, a mere four months after the latter had slit his throat, Nicolo hadn’t even given him a chance to react. He’d seized a fallen spear and driven it through the back of this strange enemy’s neck, killing him almost instantly. In the seconds before he died, however, Yusuf twisted around and glimpsed him, and his eyes went wide with shock. Nicolo picked up his sword and walked away. He didn’t need to dwell; he knew he’d see those eyes again in his dreams.

The fourth time, Yusuf had come up behind him and broken his neck. Nicolo hadn’t had to turn around to recognize the calloused hands that tried to wrench his head from his shoulders. The fifth time, Nicolo was in formation atop a cliff, looking down into the village they were about to invade. He spotted Yusuf desperately crowding a young woman, her elderly father, and her tiny infant onto a caravan cart, seconds before the crusaders’ cry for attack sounded. He waited until Yusuf sent them off, turned around, and, despite the incredible distance, locked eyes with him. Then Nicolo sent an arrow straight through his heart.

It was perhaps the first time he felt a wisp of guilt for killing Yusuf, specifically.

Having successfully assisted the citizens of Mokka in their evacuation preparations, Yusuf stealthily made his way to the docks. He knew Nicolo would be waiting for him by La Seynte Elpída. As he scanned the shore for the extremely average-looking vessel, he heard a rustle of dirt behind him. He turned on a heel and froze.

“Sifar?! What-”

“I know, I know, I’m going back, I just needed to ask you…”

“Yes?”

“Well, your husband came to the docks today, to return Ayaan’s cart, and then a few minutes after we’d walked away we saw him running back. He was calling your name, and he sounded so scared, and…”

Yusuf’s brain, which had promptly shut off at the word _husband_ , now struggled to catch up with Sifar’s anxious ramble.

“And?” he asked, taken aback at how soft the word came out.

“I just- Ayaan was worried, too, and we-”

“He’s alright, Sifar. Thank you for checking, my child.”

“Oh, good. And you? How come you’re not coming with us? You’re Muslim. You _look_ like the rest of us. They’ll kill you,” Sifar waved a fretful hand in the direction of the beach.

Yusuf looked to the shore, searching again for the ship. His gaze snagged on a pile of old crates. Atop one of them sat a familiar figure, slouching inconspicuously with a _bichuwa_ in hand, longsword and small bundle of belongings resting at his feet. Yusuf’s heart swelled painfully at the sight, overcome with a rush of longing so intense it was a miracle he didn’t black out. In that moment, he knew without a doubt that it wasn’t his immortality that protected him.

“As long as Nicolo is with me,” he told Sifar, “I have nothing to fear. I am absolutely safe with him.”

After Sifar had gone, Yusuf watched his beloved for a few seconds longer. He had never wanted Nicolo to experience a crusaders’ attack from _this_ side of the battle: the terrified whispers, the hastily convened neighbors, the deathly silent movements under the cover of dark. He had seen guilt haunt his eyes for years after they’d run away together. He had watched him struggle to cry out to his God again, to believe that anything good could come of such a power. He had clocked every time he had called Nicolo “good” or “kind” or “generous” and the latter had lowered his eyes in tacit denial.

Where would his heart be after tonight?

Out of the corner of his eye, Yusuf saw Nicolo move. He squinted through the fog. Nicolo appeared to be talking to someone who had approached him, outside of Yusuf’s line of sight. Suddenly, Nicolo raised the _bichuwa_ and struck. A shout echoed over the sand, and several crusaders staggered to their feet, turning menacingly in Nicolo’s direction. 

Yusuf swore. He unsheathed his scimitar and ran towards the crusaders one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two have come a long way but they're not in the clear yet.
> 
> I gotta say, I'm particularly happy with how the next chapter turns out. I'll be posting that on Monday!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf and Nicolo protect each other in battle and declare their love for each other in so many ways I'm actually surprised they haven't said the words "I love you" yet. They set sail for their new life in Greece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty this one's a fair bit of angst but I think there's enough comfort in there to cancel it out. TW for canon-typical violence and temporary character death. Also despite allegedly starting med school next fall I have no idea how spinal cord injuries work, so there's that.
> 
> Some religion vocab:  
> The Lord's Prayer - refers to Matthew 6:9-13 in the Bible; saying this daily and/or in times of trial is pretty standard practice in Catholicism and other forms of Christianity.  
>  _Dua_ \- a prayer of supplication in Islam; a call to God. Less formal and more personal (like a specific request) than salah/salat/namaz.

By the time Yusuf reached the docks, Nicolo was nowhere to be seen. The crusaders were in chaos, hoisting weapons into the air and shouting - whether in frustration or in triumph, Yusuf couldn’t tell. They hadn’t spotted him yet, and the smart thing to do would be to ensure that it stayed that way.

But Yusuf couldn’t see Nicolo. He didn’t know if he’d been captured or killed or thrown into the sea, or was being beaten up behind a wall of crates somewhere. Fear and rage laced the blood in his veins, and Yusuf thought, damn the smart thing. He _needed_ to know that Nicolo was okay.

He’d sliced through at least six of them before the crusaders realized a new threat had presented itself. They quickly dispersed and moved to surround him. He cut down two more before someone slammed a shield into his sword arm. Yusuf rolled with the blow, absorbing it so he didn’t break anything. He reversed his grip on the scimitar and stabbed backwards, skewering two others who’d been trying to restrain him. Unfortunately, they fell way before he could extract his weapon.

No matter. Yusuf bent down to pull an ordinary steel dagger out of a sheath strapped to his shin, grunting as something blunt hit his back. On his way back up, he managed to tear through at least three pairs of knee menisci with it. Good riddance, he thought. That’s what they get for attacking a man on the ground. Not that he’d expected them to have morals, but still.

More were coming, and Yusuf knew he couldn’t hold them off much longer. They would injure him, or worse, try to kill him and realize it couldn’t be done. They’d put two and two together and figure out that it was _him_ they’d come all this way for. And then he’d really hear it from Nicolo, if they got out of this mess. Which they would. They always did. Their captors had to die eventually, right?

Suddenly, Yusuf doubled over with a muffled cry. He looked down and saw the bloodied tip of a longsword protruding from his stomach. Whoever was behind him twisted the blade up and to the left, and the pain spiked sharply before cutting off entirely. Huh, Yusuf thought as he fell to his knees. Must’ve hit the spinal cord just right. At least he wouldn’t die screaming, this time. The last thought he had before life left his body was that he wanted so badly for all this to have been a dream, and for him to wake up next to Nicolo and kiss him until he couldn’t remember what anything other than his beloved’s lips felt like.

When he did wake up, it was still dark. For a few moments, he lay paralyzed, awake but unable to move, unable to breathe, as he felt his spine and all its nerves fuse back together. In these short seconds he became aware of two things. First, there was a warm, familiar weight on top of him, trembling fist curled in his hair and hand pressed desperately against the pulse point in his throat. 

Second, a voice, the only one he wanted to hear ever again for the rest of his immortal life, was praying. Had been praying for a while, if the hoarseness was anything to go by. As he listened, his beloved completed a fervent recitation of the Lord’s Prayer and immediately launched into a particular _dua_ that Yusuf made a point of saying every morning.

If he could have, Yusuf would have laughed with surprise. Nicolo’s Arabic was nowhere near as fluent as his own Italian, but now, every word of the _dua_ was pronounced perfectly. He wondered how long Nicolo had been paying such close attention to his morning prayers, learning them by heart. He wondered if Nicolo knew what this specific _dua_ meant.

Then he gasped, back arching as life returned to his body. Nicolo cried out in relief, keeping his fingers pressed to Yusuf’s windpipe as he buried his face in his chest. He kept up a steady litany of Yusuf’s name, voice cracking on every word.

“Yusuf, Yusuf, Yusuf…”

“ _Amore mio_ -”

Nicolo took a shuddering breath and seized Yusuf’s wrist, pressing his lips to his pulse. “Oh God, forgive me, forgive me, my love, please forgive me…”

“It was you?”

“I had to. I had no choice, I swear, I- It was the only way to get you out of there. If they found out, they would have taken you, Yusuf, like last time, and-” Nicolo paused, sitting back on his heels to rub one arm roughly across his watery eyes. His other hand never left Yusuf’s wrist. “I knew from experience that serious injuries take longer to heal. I needed you to stay unconscious long enough for me to convince them that you were d-” He squeezed his eyes shut, choking on the word.

“You saved me, my love. A spinal laceration was the best way to do that. You saved us both. What could there possibly be to forgive?”

“Yusuf, you wouldn’t _wake up_.”

The abject fear and misery in Nicolo’s eyes slammed into Yusuf all at once, snatching the very breath from his lungs. He reached forward and pulled his beloved into his arms, the inches separating them suddenly too much to bear. Nicolo clung to him like a drowning man, nose pressed into his neck, breathing him in like oxygen.

Neither made any move to break apart, only holding on tighter with each breath. At some point, Yusuf began running his palm up and down Nicolo’s back, taking comfort in the way the rigid muscles softened under his touch. He felt Nicolo’s warm hand flutter to his neck, thumb softly stroking the underside of his jaw.

When the hand stopped trembling at last, Yusuf spoke.

“Nothing you do could ever hurt me. I sometimes wonder if I’m only immortal because you were the first person to try to kill me, and Allah needed a justification for why I couldn’t perish at your hand.”

Nicolo choked out something resembling a laugh. “You’re so sure.”

“As sure as I am of my own life.” A few minutes passed in peaceful silence. “Nicolo?”

“Yes, _habibi_?”

“Where are we?”

“La Seynte Elpída, lower deck. Can you feel the water below?”

“You carried me all the way here?!”

“And I’ll do it a hundred more times.”

Yusuf dropped his head to Nicolo's shoulder, aching with love for this man who was clearly too good for him, too good for the world. He felt the fabric on Nicolo’s back come loose in his hand, and he realised that his fist was bunched up in a worn crusaders’ cape. He looked up questioningly.

“Had to disguise myself, didn’t I?” Nicolo explained. “To make it believable. I know I swore to never wear it again. But running from my past isn’t more important than your safety. Even if it means putting this godforsaken rag back on.”

Yusuf gave a watery smile, dragging a trail of soft kisses from Nicolo’s jaw to his chest. He rested his head reverently over Nicolo’s heart. 

“That’s okay. We’ll use it to wipe the floor.”

Nicolo chuckled. “Or we can burn it for warmth.”

“Or toss it into the ocean to rot.”

“Hmm. That’s a good idea.”

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

“Nicolo?” Yusuf whispered like a benediction, voice breaking a little. 

“Hmm?”

“Do you know what that _dua_ means, the one you were saying earlier?”

“I can guess. But I might be wrong.”

Nicolo tenderly kissed his head, carding a hand through his curls with such gentle devotion that Yusuf shivered. He pressed impossibly closer to his beloved.

“You know, don’t you. Already. It’s for you, it’s only ever for you.”

“ _Ya ruhi_ , tell me?”

_Oh my soul, tell me?_

Yusuf gasped, reaching up to clutch Nicolo’s wrists as he felt the painfully fond words call forth the _dua_ from his very heart.

“ _May the precondition of my immortality be his life. The precondition of my love, his existence. That of my world, his presence. Of my happiness, his embrace. Of myself, him. Ya Allah, may I not take one single breath without him by my side_.”

Nicolo’s eyes shone as he held Yusuf’s face in his hands, gazing at him like all the stars were in his eyes. 

“Nor I without you.”

Yusuf kissed him, then. How could he not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes me happy and I hope it made y'all happy, too. Next up, these two arrive in Greece and do more cute things, and we get our first look at the literal goddess that is Andromache the Scythian. 
> 
> Side note: absolutely no pressure or anything but you guys' comments never fail to make my day; if you do share your thoughts on this just know I appreciate each one <3
> 
> I'll be back with another update on Wednesday!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ship's captain comes to kick Yusuf and Nicolo off the ship, and ends up getting an earful from Nicolo about what Yusuf means to him. As the two are starting their new life together, Andromache mourns her past and reflects on the strange dreams she's been having.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts out with a lot of fluff and hope and kissing and ends with Andromache getting arrested. TW for canon-typical violence and brief references to suicide. Our queen is going through a bit of a booker phase right now but it doesn't last, I promise.

“Stow-aways! Get out, you unkempt thieves! Get lost!”

Yusuf snapped awake to the yelling and spent a frantic second looking for Nicolo before realizing that he’d been sleeping in Nicolo’s _lap_. Nicolo, for his part, was both wide awake and supremely unconcerned, gazing lovingly at Yusuf as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Good morning, love.”

Behind him, the shouting grew more insistent, and Yusuf craned his neck to see what was going on.

“This is an atrocity! How dare you board this great ship-”

“Will you shut up for one second?” Nicolo said irritatedly over his shoulder. “You’re disturbing him.”

“Oh, disturbing him? _I’m_ disturbing _him_? You’re lucky I haven’t beaten you both to a pulp and thrown you overboard…”

The threats droned on in the background as Nicolo leaned down and brushed his lips against Yusuf’s forehead. 

“ _Habibi_ , we’ve arrived. Ready to see Greece together?”

“Oh, that’s just rich. Right on my ship, too. Really? _Habibi_? What is he, your lover?”

With some difficulty, Yusuf managed to tear his eyes away from Nicolo’s and locate the source of the disgruntled shouting. Nicolo sighed and eased Yusuf’s head up so he could get to his feet. He pushed back the sleeves of his tunic and stalked towards the man, who instinctively took a step back. Nicolo leaned in, eyeing the man up and down. After a tense moment, he rifled through his pocket and fished out a handful of coins.

“Here,” he said, holding them out to the captain. “Thank you for letting us ride on your ship. We’ll be leaving now.”

The captain’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. When it became clear that Nicolo wasn’t joking, he hastily accepted the coins. Nicolo stole a glance at Yusuf before turning back to the captain.

“And for the record, he’s not my ‘lover.’ This man is more to me than you could ever know. He is the sun I wake up to every morning, the shade I seek rest in when I am weary of life. His touch alone sustains me. His heart overflows with devotion that I am not worthy of. What I feel for him defies understanding and expression. He’s not my lover.” 

Nicolo reached a hand behind him, and Yusuf grasped it, stunned. He scrambled to his feet. Nicolo gently pulled him forward and turned to face him, lifting their joined hands between them and very deliberately intertwining their fingers. He looked directly into Yusuf’s eyes.

“He’s all and he’s more.”

It was hard to tell who was more astounded: the captain or Yusuf. The last vestiges of sleep evaporated from Yusuf's brain like water on a hot stovetop. His hands trembled as he felt tears gather like rain clouds in his eyes. Nicolo’s gaze was calm, confident, aglow with an uncensored love that Yusuf had only ever glimpsed in the privacy of their bedroom. 

Yusuf lifted a shaking hand. It hovered over Nicolo’s cheek as he hesitated, sharply aware that the captain hadn’t looked away. A single errant tear slipped free.

“C- Can I?”

Nicolo reached up and guided the hand to his face, covering it with his own. Yusuf gave a strangled sigh at the sudden warmth beneath his fingertips. This was enough, he thought. This was more than enough. 

Nicolo, apparently, thought otherwise.

“Can I kiss you?”

Yusuf squeezed his eyes shut, causing more tears to cascade down his face as he realized what Nicolo was doing. What he was trying to say.

 _This is okay now_ , he heard in Nicolo’s silence. _I want to touch you, to love you fully, with or without others present, and damn the consequences. I want to learn to have faith again. I want our new life to be different. Can it be?_

“Please,” Yusuf choked out, not caring that he was begging. “Please, _amore_ , please-”

They kissed, then, and for long enough that the captain turned a bright shade of red and decided to have the decency to return to the deck. When Yusuf and Nicolo finally left the ship to take their first steps in this new world, they did so hand in hand.

***

They didn’t burn witches in Greece, which is why Andromache was here now. She sat cross-legged on the cobblestone walkway of a back end alley, a prime position to keep an eye on the hustle and bustle of the marketplace without actually getting involved. Nevermind that the stones were damp with something that might not 100% be water and the wall behind her back had the structural integrity of a sandcastle.

Seven years wasn’t _that_ long of a time to be alone, she reflected. She’d been alone for a lot longer before that. The endless stretch of time in front of her probably made it worse. That, and the fact that she’d gotten used to _not_ being alone. It was a sadistic play of fate, she decided, to give someone something, take it away, and then leave them with eternity to think about what they’d lost.

_No. Don’t do it, Andromache. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about her, don’t think about what you lost, don’t think about her drowning endlessly at the bottom of the ocean somewhere-_

Fuck. She was thinking about it. Andromache took a long swig from her bottle. She knew the responsible thing to do would be to board a ship for the Americas and wander around in an unfamiliar land until she forgot she’d had any life before that, but the truth was, she wasn’t ready to leave the Mediterranean Sea. Quynh was here somewhere. There was still a chance she could find her.

Seven years ago, after she and Quynh had been captured and tortured and not quite successfully hung by the witch-hunters in the North, some genius had come up with the ridiculous idea that they would “lose their powers” if they were separated. They’d trapped Quynh in an iron cage and tossed her into the sea. Then, they’d burned Andromache at the stake, and a very spooked and underpaid graveyard apprentice had shoveled six feet of dirt over her rapidly regenerating remains.

It had taken Andromache fourteen whole death-by-suffocations to dig her way up to ground level. And alongside her love for Quynh, it was the visceral horror of that experience that drove her to spend the next seven years almost constantly at sea, combing wave by wave through the Mediterranean in a mission to find her beloved and give Fate the biggest “fuck you” of all time.

 _If only_ , she lamented now, and not for the first time. _If only we’d lost our immortality when they took her away from me. Then she could drown in peace, and I could jump off a cliff somewhere, and we wouldn’t have to suffer through this excuse for a life for the rest of the foreseeable future_.

Andromache knew deep down that had she lost her immortality and still lived, she in all likelihood would not have jumped off the nearest cliff. She’d have found _something_ to live for. It was the not having a choice that really got to her. So what if she would have chosen to live anyway? She still deserved to have the _option_ of death.

Now, after seven years of utter futility, she was ready to give up the search for her lost love. She’d attempted this a few times before, and the giving up had never lasted longer than a month. She doubted it would now. But she wanted to try, and since they were still burning witches in the North, she decided to try in Greece.

She brought the bottle up to her lips and tipped her head back, draining the liquid in three large, throat-scorching gulps. Damn immortality, not letting the alcohol damage her brain permanently enough to forget Quynh. Damn Quynh, leaving a hole in her heart that her stupid, stupid immortality couldn’t heal. _And while we’re at it_ , she thought, _damn those two insufferable lovebirds that haunt the few lucky hours I get to spend unconscious at night. Get a room that’s not my head_.

She was well aware of the probability that they were new immortals. That was how she’d found Quynh and Lykon - through dreams. And if she was dreaming of them, they were likely dreaming of her. But Andromache didn’t want anything to do with them, because she didn’t need two kissy-faced human versions of opposing magnet poles dogging her footsteps.

At least, that was what she tried to tell herself. The reality was that she’d suffered enough loss for a lifetime, and wasn’t about to set herself up for more by daring to love again. And her fool heart would love them, she knew, with or without her permission. Perhaps it already did.

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the marketplace. A vocally apoplectic merchant threw a rock at a rather dexterous thief who’d tried to make a run for it with what looked to be a large jar of expensive perfume. The thief’s eyes were visible through a hastily tied balaclava, and they managed to snag Andromache’s gaze. He ran towards her, armed guards in hot pursuit, and dropped the jar at her feet with a very extravagant-smelling crash. He tossed his balaclava into her hands for good measure and disappeared down the alleyway.

The guards arrived on the scene, desperate to arrest someone, _anyone_ , to appease the raving merchant. Even Adromache had to admit the circumstances looked pretty damn suspicious, and she’d actually seen the real thief run off. There was no way the guards would believe her story.

She considered fighting. It wouldn’t even be hard to take out this handful of angry men and escape. She could do it with a hand tied behind her back.

But Andromache the Scythian had come to Greece for one thing and one thing only: to give up. This was a good time as any to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically balaclava face coverings weren't referred to as such until their use in the Battle of Balaclava during the Crimean War of 1854, but meh.
> 
> The next chapter has accidentally turned into 1500+ words of Nicolo and Yusuf wandering through a Greek marketplace being cute with each other instead of furthering the plot like they were supposed to, so this story *might* go to 11 chapters oops.
> 
> Anyway, the next update will be up on Friday!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf and Nicolo stroll through a marketplace in Greece, and in a moment of idleness, Nicolo recalls the first moment he realized that Yusuf wasn't quite an enemy to him. After the market, they make plans to spend the evening together, but their date is soon interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the aforementioned chapter of fluff! TW for canon-typical violence and a brief mention of past Islamophobia that gets shut down immediately.

“Yusuf, look! It’s a scimitar like yours!”

The boardwalk had given way to a marketplace, and as they explored, Nicolo spotted a booth with several weapons hung in display. He pointed out the blade, and Yusuf followed his gaze with interest. 

They approached the stall, and as Yusuf examined the scimitar, Nicolo reveled in the casual intimacy of his own hand resting against the small of Yusuf’s back. He watched as Yusuf tested the weapon’s weight and ran delicate fingers over the blade. The hilt was engraved with an ornate grip that balanced well in his palm. The corners of his lips curved up slightly in appreciation.

“How much?” Nicolo enquired immediately. The vendor gave a numerical response in Arabic that Nicolo couldn’t place right away, but from the speed at which Yusuf’s head snapped up, he realized it was probably out of their budget.

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

Nicolo unstrapped the longsword and its sheath from his waist and held it up.

“Make a trade?” he asked in broken Arabic. The vendor considered this. After a moment, he nodded, asking to inspect the longsword. But as Nicolo made to hand it over, Yusuf softly grasped his forearm.

“No, _amore_ , this is not necessary-”

“Yusuf, you don’t have a weapon, remember? I still have the _bichuwa_.”

“I don’t _need_ a weapon. I have you. I’m safe.”

Nicolo felt something flutter in his chest at that, something he couldn’t quite label. Part of him wanted to scream at Yusuf that it had been less than 24 hours since Nicolo had killed him by his own hand, and how could Yusuf have forgiven him so quickly? Another part of him wanted to melt into a puddle at the absolute trust and confidence in Yusuf’s voice. But mostly, he wanted to make sure Yusuf was armed.

“I- you know what, one second.” Nicolo turned to the vendor and handed over the longsword and sheath. Then, as it was being examined, he pulled Yusuf to the side. He took a deep breath. “I need to be rid of that sword. It took your life.”

Yusuf raised an eyebrow. 

“We’ve killed each other many times, though. It’s taken my life before. You still kept it all these years.”

Nicolo frowned, searching for the words to make him understand.

“Yes, but it’s not the same thing. Yesterday, I did not kill an enemy with it. I killed the love of my life." 

Yusuf immediately took both of Nicolo’s hands in his.

“Please don’t say that. You saved me. You can’t really think I… I _blame_ you. Do you? Because if, unknowingly, I have given you any reason to think that, any at all, I swear-”

“No, of course not! Yusuf, my love, _never_. Just- For my own sake, let me trade it. The scimitar is really nice. I’d so much rather you have that. Please?”

Yusuf hesitated, then bent down and pressed a quick kiss to his beloved’s knuckles, testing the boundaries of this tentative new freedom between them. He relented.

“Okay. Whatever you want, _amore mio_.”

The vendor judged the longsword to be worth a small bag of silver pieces on top of the scimitar, which was rather nice. They continued down the crowded cobblestone path, stopping here to smell a candle, there to touch a particularly soft-looking shawl. As he watched Yusuf explore with the carefree excitement of a child, winning the friendship of total strangers with nothing more than a kind word or spontaneous smile, Nicolo thought there couldn’t possibly be a heaven beyond this.

The sixth time their paths had crossed on a battlefield, it had been a few years since Nicolo shot Yusuf with a crossbow. This time, they were both prepared. The scimitar had blocked his longsword in mid-air, and a fight had begun in earnest. Sparks flew and dust rose and they struck, blocked, rolled, retreated. Then again. And again. Neither could so much as nick the other, and neither seemed to grow fatigued. 

Nicolo felt the rest of the battlefield fade around them as his focus sharpened. Time ceased to exist outside of the present moment. His skin prickled with goosebumps as he realized that they’d fallen into a _rhythm_ , one that he could easily break to throw his enemy off balance. Yusuf’s eyes caught his, and he knew that Yusuf had realized this, too. Neither broke the rhythm.

The air hummed with ozone as metal struck metal repeatedly. Nicolo ducked. Rolled. Parried. Stabbed. A drop of sweat slid down his forehead into his eye. It burned, but his vision didn’t blur. Yusuf’s face came into view, and Nicolo was slightly surprised to see an odd expression there, rather closer to a smile than appropriate for a battlefield. He suddenly became aware that his own face was mirroring it. 

He mildly thought he should find that concerning, but mostly his brain was trying to make sense of how _right_ this felt. Nicolo tried to push the sense of wonder aside. Of course it felt right. This was what he had been sent to do. Kill the barbarians. Save God’s holy land. Defend the Church.

At that, the rhythm broke. He had forgotten about God, and churches, and barbarians. Now it all came flooding back. He claimed to be fighting an enemy, but found himself unable to dredge up a single ounce of hatred for the man in front of him. A stray arrow just caught the skin of his opponent’s calf, and Yusuf took a second to look down and swear creatively. His neck was open, Nicolo realized. He should strike. But his arm wouldn’t move, and that scared him like nothing ever had before.

Recovering, Yusuf lifted his scimitar and stabbed at Nicolo’s chest. His face was alive with levity, and he clearly expected Nicolo to block. But Nicolo’s sword hung uselessly at his side, body completely unwilling to cooperate. He felt his opponent’s blade sink though a lung, and the last thing he saw before drowning in his own blood was the look of horror on Yusuf’s face. When he woke up, he had been alone again.

A woven silk scarf, followed by a pair of familiar arms, draped themselves over Nicolo’s shoulders from behind, jolting him out of his reverie. Yusuf rested his chin on his shoulder, grinning.

“ _Per te_. Do you like it?”

Nicolo turned his head enough to drop a quick kiss on Yusuf’s nose. He ran his hands over the scarf, taking in its rich colors and smooth sheen, magical in the gold of the late afternoon sun. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Yusuf, how much was this?”

“Why? You can sell your longsword to get me something, but I can’t splurge a little for you?”

“Yusuf-”

“Far too little to deserve to be wrapped around your body like this, my life, my all. But it is lucky. As am I.”

“You’re an incurable romantic, is what you are.”

“Just look who’s talking! I am not the one who chewed a complete stranger’s ears off with heartfelt declarations of our love, _amore_.”

Nicolo swatted him on the shoulder, rather more gently than he’d meant. Yusuf grabbed the hand and kissed it, giving Nicolo a smug little wink. Nicolo rolled his eyes. He didn’t release Yusuf’s hand as they resumed their walk, instead intertwining their fingers and tenderly rubbing circles on the inside of his wrist.

“Nicolo?”

A slight waver in Yusuf’s voice gave Nicolo pause.

“Yes, _habibi_?”

“Why did you attack that crusader last night?”

Nicolo stiffened instinctively, and Yusuf jumped to take it back.

“Wait, no, you don’t have to tell me. Nevermind, I-”

“Yusuf. He didn’t recognize me. He tried to convince me to join them.”

“ _Oh_.”

“Had the audacity to suggest that if I went into Mokka and brought him a dead Muslim by sunrise, he’d put in a ‘good word’ for me back in Italy.”

“Wow.”

“The only appropriate response was stabbing him, really.”

Yusuf’s grip on his hand tightened slightly, and he brushed his cheek against Nicolo’s. Nicolo felt the knot in his stomach unwind, eternally grateful that Yusuf hadn’t _thanked_ him. He didn’t think he could bear it if Yusuf had even the tiniest subconscious doubt that he would have done anything different. If, after all these years, he still thought that Nicolo could hurt him, then-

“Want to go see the sunset from a terrace?” Yusuf asked into his spiraling thoughts. Nicolo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Absolutely. But let’s get some food first.”

They made it to the terrace with plenty of time to spare. Nicolo shook out a borrowed blanket to spread on the floor as Yusuf walked to the edge and looked down.

“This wall looks like it’s about to collapse,” he observed.

“It won’t collapse.”

“Mhm.”

Nicolo straightened the edges of the blanket and looked up.

“Come here. You’re going to fall if you lean over the edge like that.”

“So what? I’ll just get up and climb back up here.”

Nicolo gave a long-suffering sigh. It wasn’t fair how much his heart longed for this infuriating man. He moved a few large rocks onto the corners of the blanket to prevent the wind from unsettling it.

“ _Amore_ , come here a minute.”

His tone had sobered, and Nicolo was at his side in half a second. 

“What is it?”

Yusuf pointed at a commotion in the marketplace below. A merchant was yelling and throwing rocks. A thief was running off with a large jar, pursued by several armed guards. He rounded the corner of their building and dropped the jar by a woman who’d been sitting against the wall, unkempt hair veiling her face. He tore off his balaclava, flung it in her direction, and disappeared behind a wall.

The guards turned the corner, drew their conclusions, and seized the woman, who strangely did not resist. Perhaps she was ill, or just very tired. They tied her hands behind her back and marched her away, prodding the back of her neck with a spear.

“We have to help her,” Nicolo said simply. “She’s innocent.”

Yusuf nodded. He adjusted the scimitar at his waist and followed Nicolo down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, our three immortals finally meet. I may actually post the next two chapters together if I manage to be efficient for once. 
> 
> (Also, I realize I didn't put this anywhere except the tags so just to clarify, this story diverges from canon in that Quynh has already been lost before Yusuf and Nicolo find Andromache.)
> 
> Next update on Sunday!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf and Nicolo break into the local dungeon and rescue Andromache, who helps them fight off the guards and escape to a safe house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know literally nothing about medieval Greek dungeons so there may be historical inaccuracies. I don't think they interfere with the plot, though. TW for canon-typical violence and temporary character death.

Much as she had an hour ago, Andromache sat cross-legged on the stone floor, cold and damp beneath her, leaning against a wall. This time, however, the wall was not weak, and the tiny space was barred with thick iron slats and a hefty lock. Short chains shackled her wrists and ankles, and she shifted minutely to find a more comfortable position.

“Hey!” a guard yelled from somewhere outside as the chains clattered noisily against the stone. “Be quiet in there, or we’ll send you to the whipping block!”

Andromache rolled her eyes. She’s been accused of theft and destruction of property and ordered to pay a heavy fine in reparations to the merchant. As luck would have it, she’d blown the last of her money on the bottle of alcohol she’d been nursing all evening, and was quite frankly broke. 

The court’s solution had been to imprison her until someone could come and pay the fine on her behalf, but then they’d refused to let her write a letter or send someone with a message. It was maddening, how dull-witted they were. Andromache resigned herself to being trapped in this stupid dungeon for the rest of her “break.” She’d soon enough find her way out and return to the sea to keep looking for Quynh.

 _Quynh_ , she invoked silently. _You’d laugh at me, if you could see me now. Probably scold me for being an idiot. But then you’d break me out, and we could go somewhere nice together, somewhere far, far away from here. Maybe your home country. Remember that time in Lâm Đồng? I want to kiss you under a waterfall again_.

Suddenly, the guard who had been standing outside her cell fell to the ground with a soft _whump_. Andromache cocked an eyebrow. The second guard gave a sort of alarmed shout and ran across the front of her cell, only to be thrown back seconds later with a clearly broken neck.

“Huh,” Andromache commented mildly. Perhaps she’d escape sooner than later, after all. She maneuvered her bound wrists to her side and began examining the chains.

More shouts echoes down the stone hallways, and Andromache heard a voice yell,

“Free her! I’ll hold them off!”

Moments later, a shiny new scimitar sliced through the lock, and a very familiar man stepped into the cell. He caught sight of Andromache’s face and froze.

“Fuck,” Andromache spat. A thousand questions fought for control of her tongue. “You- How did you find- Why are you- Is he with you?” she settled on. The man nodded slowly, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder. “Okay, well, you two should leave. I know who you are. I know you cannot die. But you can be captured, and tortured, and a lot of other things, so take your husband and get-”

This was the second time someone had called him that, and something about being in this woman’s presence forced a confession out of Yusuf. 

“He’s not my husband,” he interrupted, and then frowned at himself. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. It definitely wasn’t the most pressing issue at the moment.

Andromache took a deep breath. For a moment, Yusuf worried that he’d angered her. But when she looked up, he caught a flash of pain in her eyes before the metaphorical walls went back up. He rushed to her side and knelt by the chains.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Yusuf. Did they hurt you? Are you in pain?”

Andromache almost laughed. 

“No to the first question, yes to the second,” she said before she could check herself. Yusuf stared at her. “But get me out of these chains, yeah? I’ll be able to help you guys with the fight. I’m Andromache, by the way.”

Yusuf gave her a quick nod and began to work at the chains with his scimitar. The metal screeched excruciatingly as he sawed away. Andromache endured exactly ten seconds of this before she suggested that he try swinging the blade down with force; it would be more dangerous but also faster, and if he accidentally chopped off a hand, she’d heal almost instantly.

“You’ve done this before,” he observed as they changed positions. Andromache spared him a tired nod. Yusuf got the distinct sense that she was much, much older than both him and Nicolo. He also sensed that she was in a lot more pain than she was letting on, and he found his heart aching for this woman he barely knew.

“Thank you.” She rubbed her freed wrists and Yusuf moved to cut the chains around her ankles. He shifted the scimitar into a few different angles to strike from, and then dropped it. _Too much risk_ , Andromache realized. _He’s not comfortable causing injuries, even if they will heal instantly_. The thought was strangely comforting, enough to make her feel irritated at the unfamiliarity of the emotion. 

“Could you- would you mind-” Yusuf hesitated. Andromache understood anyway.

“You want me to stand up?”

“Can you? Would it hurt, with the way the chains are-”

“Less than getting a toe chopped off,” she replied flippantly. Yusuf blanched, and Andromache rushed to reassure him. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. Here.” She leaned against the wall and pushed herself to her feet. She gripped his left shoulder to brace herself, and felt him do the same to her as he lifted the scimitar into position. He struck once, and the metal around her left ankle gave way with a clang. 

As they readied themselves for the last chain, a wounded cry resounded from outside the cell. Andromache wouldn’t have specifically singled it out among the sounds of the battle, but Yusuf’s grip on her shoulder tightened painfully. He didn’t so much as turn around, but she felt his pulse stutter beneath her palm as his breath hitched. When he raised the scimitar again, his hand shook.

 _He’s trying so hard to stay_ , Andromache thought with grudging admiration. _What would I have done if that had been Quynh_?

“Stop,” she said aloud. Yusuf startled. When he met her eyes, he was surprised at the depth of understanding he saw. Part of him was uncomfortable at being read so clearly by someone who wasn’t Nicolo. But a much bigger part of him felt…safe? Grateful?

“Go help him,” she continued. “I can figure this one out. I have both hands free.”

Yusuf almost did run out. There was nothing, _nothing_ in the world more important to him than making sure Nicolo was okay. But something deep in his heart told him that it was just as important that he stayed. It didn’t make sense. This woman didn’t _need_ him; she was clearly more than qualified to do this on her own, and probably would have if he and Nicolo hadn’t shown up. 

But there was a strange resignation to the way she told him to leave that gave him pause. Yusuf summoned every ounce of his resolve and willed his grip on the scimitar to steady.

“No,” he said firmly. “I am not leaving you. We’ll help him together.” He swung his weapon down with steely conviction, and the last chain shattered.

Together, they ran out of the cell. Andromache stooped to pick up a spear from a fallen guard. As they fought their way through the truly unnecessary number of prison guards, Yusuf searched frantically for-

“Nicolo!”

 _Ah_ , Andromache thought. _Nicolo, that’s his not-husband’s name_. Yusuf dropped to his knees beside the unconscious man, and Andromache covered them easily. In fact, she quickly gained the upper hand, allowing her mind to wander as she annihilated the attackers on practiced autopilot. 

What just happened back there in the cell? Why hadn’t Yusuf left when given the chance? She’d seen his eyes, and they hadn’t been tainted with pity or even that annoying protective masculinity that made her want to stab a bastard. No. She’d seen something else, something that she didn’t quite dare put a name to, but let warm her heart nonetheless.

Bodied littered the floor around her, and she could hear more footsteps thudding against the stone in the next hallway. She stalked back to Yusuf and Nicolo. Nicolo had just resumed breathing, and Yusuf was covering his eyes, very close to passing out from sheer relief.

“Get up,” she ordered. “We have to go.”

Nicolo, still addled from his brush with death, caught sight of her and immediately stepped in front of Yusuf, pointing his _bichuwa_ at her throat. His other hand reached back to rest possessively against Yusuf’s sternum.

“Who are-”

His eyes widened, and Andromache clocked the exact moment he recognized her from his dreams.

“ _Amore_ , please,” Yusuf pacified, gently maneuvering his sword arm down. “This is Andromache. She is not our enemy.”

“Andromache.” Trust and suspicion warred behind Nicolo’s eyes. It reminded Andromache of an ocean storm. “You saved us.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. She pointed at Yusuf. “ _He_ saved _me_.” She paused, turning to him. “Why? Nicolo was in danger. He’s everything to you. You do not even know me.”

It was a testament to the utterly chaotic nature of this meeting that none of them registered just how close the hammering of footsteps had become until a spear flew straight at Nicolo’s neck. Yusuf leapt in front of him, raising his scimitar. He would _not_ see the love of his life die twice today.

But Andromache was quicker. In one fluid motion, she rolled the spear’s shaft over her own, preserving its momentum and sending it hurtling back in the direction it came from. She then skewered the guard who’d thrown it with her own spear.

“How did you do that?!” Yusuf exclaimed.

Behind him, Nicolo grinned slowly. “Can you teach us?”

Andromache felt a smile tug at her own lips. “You’ll pick it up. Right now, we have to get out of here. I know a place where we’ll be safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys they're a family and I love them. More romantic and family shenanigans next chapter.
> 
> And yeah, this is probably gonna go longer than 11 chapters. Hope y'all don't mind:)
> 
> Next update will be posted an hour or so after this one, so stay tuned!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get to the safe house. Andromache leaves to get rations while Yusuf and Nicolo try to process and cope with the events of the past few days. After Nicolo falls asleep, Andromache and Yusuf have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dudes! I don't think I have any TWs for this chapter - kissing as a coping mechanism, maybe? Just some angsty fluff about how the immortals' first night together in Greece unfolds. Ends on a bit of a cliffhanger.

“How did you find me?” Andromache asked as they picked their way through brambles surrounding the deserted ruins of what must have once been a perfectly serviceable bathhouse. Enough of the roof was still up to provide shelter from the elements, in any case.

“We weren’t looking yet,” Yusuf replied honestly. “We were on a terrace to watch the sunset and saw the guards arrest you for something you had not done. We came to the jail and explained what had actually happened, but their response was to try and arrest us, too.” He swore and spit as a spider web caught his face, flailing a little as it clung to his neck.

“Hold still,” Nicolo muttered from behind him, reaching out to help detangle the web. “We could not see your face,” he told Andromache, “or perhaps we would not have followed. We have seen you conquer much worse than a handful of spear-wielding morons. You could have escaped in no time.” 

There was a brief silence as Nicolo and Yusuf managed to rid themselves of the spider web. Andromache had stopped a few feet ahead, turning back to wait for them.

“Why didn’t you?”

The question had come from Yusuf. Andromache would say she hadn’t expected it, but that would be a lie. She could feel a slight wariness from Nicolo, a sort of healthy suspicion appropriate of someone you’d just met. But from Yusuf she sensed only trust. His deep brown eyes held an openness that perceived everything and hid nothing.

Andromache suddenly felt the urge to scold him about it, to tell him to give his trust sparingly and to be more careful, lest he get hurt.

Instead, she shrugged. “No good reason.” She started back towards the safehouse. “Dream about me a lot, then?”

“Mostly nightmares.”

Andromache snorted. That was Nicolo.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, and once inside, Andromache led the way to a small chamber furnished with a single worn mattress tossed haphazardly on the floor in a corner.

“Yusuf, dust off the mattress and make sure Nicolo gets some rest,” she instructed as she rummaged through a trunk by the door.

“I don’t need rest!”

“You were skewered through the brainstem with a pointy metal stick less than an hour ago. I don’t care if you’re immortal. You need rest.”

“But I’m fine-”

“Yusuf!” she raised her voice, ignoring a sputtering Nicolo. Yusuf looked between the two of them, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I will make sure he rests,” he reassured, to Nicolo’s annoyance.

“Great. Extra weapons in here” - she tossed a noisy bundle of steel out of the trunk - “and clean water in there” - she pointed to a rusted pump in the next room - “and I’m gonna get us some rations before every marketplace vendor packs up for the night. You two need anything else?” They shook their heads. “Alright. I’ll be back before full dark.”

Nicolo barely managed to wait until she was out the door before pinning Yusuf against the wall and smashing their lips together. Yusuf gasped, bringing his hands up around his beloved’s waist and shoulders and kissing back just as passionately.

Neither had quite realized the toll the past couple days had taken until this moment. Together, alone, and more or less safe, they sought desperately in each other’s mouths the familiarity and comfort of the life they’d built together, one that had been suddenly and violently ripped from beneath their feet. 

Yusuf tightened his arms around Nicolo and tilted his head to the side to breathe.

“ _Amore_ -”

“Hmm?” Nicolo hummed, kissing down Yusuf’s cheek before recapturing his lips. Yusuf groaned, feeling his mind go rather unhelpfully blank. He was supposed to make sure Nicolo rested, and how would he manage that if he couldn’t even string two coherent thoughts together? He brought his palms to Nicolo’s chest and pushed gently.

“My love, there is a perfectly functional mattress _right there_!” Yusuf laughed, slightly breathless. Nicolo reached up to seize his wrists, leaving a trail of soft kisses on the inside of each.

“But if I lie down, I may fall asleep,” Nicolo mumbled.

“So you admit it. You’re exhausted, _amore mio_.”

“So what if I am? I need you more than I need sleep.”

Yusuf wrapped his arms back around Nicolo’s waist and pulled him close, bowing his head to kiss Nicolo’s shoulder.

“You have me. You always have me, _amore_. I’m yours. I’m yours forever.” 

An intrusive image of Nicolo lying dead on the dungeon floor flashed before Yusuf’s eyes despite himself. His breath hitched as a cold shiver ran down his spine. 

Nicolo pulled back. “Yusuf? What happened, my love?”

Yusuf shut his eyes to hide his sudden tears, which had the exact opposite effect of sending them racing down his cheeks. _Stop_ , he chastised himself. _Nicolo is here. Nicolo is fine. What is there to cry about? You’re worrying him unnecessarily_.

“Nothing,” he insisted, voice breaking traitorously on the word. Nicolo cupped his face tenderly, brushing the tears away with his thumbs even as Yusuf refused to meet his eyes.

“Yusuf. My life. Shhh. It’s okay, my beloved. I’m here. I’m here.”

“I know,” Yusuf whispered. “I know, I just- I can’t-” He sighed in frustration.

“I feel the same, Yusuf. I know the pain in your heart intimately. I am sorry that you experience it on my account.”

Yusuf shook his head vigorously. “It’s not your fault. It’s not any of our faults. Why must the bliss of spending eternity with you demand such a price? I cannot pay it, _amore_ , I am not strong enough-”

A sob choked off his words, and Nicolo pulled Yusuf into himself, cradling the back of his head protectively.

“You are enough, Yusuf. Please, my love. Shhh. Some food and rest, and you’ll feel like yourself again. Come, let us rest. You were right. Let us sleep.”

They snuggled together on the musty mattress, Nicolo’s back pressed to Yusuf’s chest. Yusuf held tight, occasionally dragging his fingertips up and down Nicolo’s forearm in a soothing caress. Nicolo was out like a candle within seconds. Yet try as he might, Yusuf could not follow his example. He lay quietly in the growing darkness, waiting, feeling the rise and fall of his beloved’s chest beneath his arm.

He figured about half an hour had passed when he heard heavy footsteps and the rustling of ration bags from the front room. Yusuf leaned over Nicolo, and found that the latter hadn’t even stirred. _Andromache was right_ , he thought. _He must have been really tired to sleep like this_. Slowly, he extracted his arm from around Nicolo and went into the front room.

Andromache was seated on a padded bench, picking grapes off a bunch and half-heartedly tossing them into her mouth. She seemed lost in thought. Yusuf approached her.

“Andromache.”

She looked up, smiling lightly when she saw Yusuf. She patted the cushion next to her.

“Come, Yusuf. Did he fall asleep alright?” She nodded towards the bedroom.

“Yes. He was exhausted.”

“Hmm. Grapes?”

Yusuf was about to wave them off, but Andromache raised an eyebrow. He relented, breaking off a piece of the bunch and tasting one. His eyes widened in surprise. Andromache grinned. 

“Good?”

“These are so sweet!”

“Aren’t they? There’s literally only one vendor I ever buy from, for this reason.”

“Have you been here a long time?”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “Long enough.”

They settled into a comfortable silence. Andromache watched as Yusuf finished off his grapes. She nudged his foot with hers.

“Hey. Don’t get too comfy accepting food from strangers, yeah? It’s the number one way to get yourself captured. Poisons, sedatives, all that.”

“ _You_ gave me these grapes.”

“You just met me a couple hours ago.”

“You saved Nicolo’s life.”

Andromache paused. “Oh. That’s how you trusted me so easily. I was wondering.”

“I trusted you the moment you told me to leave you in that cell and help Nicolo. I thought, for a moment- I felt like you understood. What he means to me, that is,” Yusuf trailed off, looking at the floor with the air of a man who was regretting saying too much.

“You think I’m going to judge you for loving a man?”

Yusuf shook his head.

“For loving a foreigner, then? Or maybe for loving someone of a different faith?”

Yusuf hesitated at that. “Maybe. We’ve been- People have-”

“They’ve hurt you for loving a Catholic man before, haven’t they? They were probably crusaders, or their mercenaries? Tried to separate the two of you? Take advantage of your immortality?”

Yusuf’s head snapped up. “How did you- oh. The dreams. You saw everything, didn’t you?”

“No. I only started dreaming of you when you started dreaming of me. The dreams are like that. They start at the same time, keep going until we find each other. Then they stop.” She leveled an unreadable gaze at Yusuf. “As far as how I knew that? Lucky guess. I’ve been around in this world for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Not sure. Lost count ages ago. Couple millenia, maybe? A _long_ time.” There was a pause. “But what we have, it’s not forever. One day, our wounds just stop healing. And we die. No one knows why or when.”

Unexpectedly, Yusuf felt his eyes sting. Nicolo had always been so sure that everything that lives must die. It wasn’t that Yusuf hadn’t believed him. But to hear it from Andromache, who’d been around so long she’d probably seen others like them succumb to their mortality, made it urgent and real. 

Now he knew he didn’t just have to watch Nicolo die over and over for millenia. He also had to face the very real possibility that every time it happened, Nicolo might just... _not_ wake up.

“I can’t,” he blurted out loud. Andromache furrowed her brow in confusion.

“Can’t what?”

Yusuf turned to her, eyes wild and desperate and brimming with unshed tears. Andromache leaned forward and planted a firm hand on his shoulder, using her thumb to rub the tension out of his muscles.

“Talk to me, Yusuf. Can’t what? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t watch him die over and over again. It’s too much. What if he didn’t wake up today? What if I lose him? I can’t live without him, and I can’t die either, and I- He’s everything to me. You said it yourself. Why is it even possible for immortals to fall in love?”

Andromache let go of his shoulder and sat back. 

“I ask myself that every day. Seems like a cruel joke, doesn’t it?”

Yusuf didn’t look at her.

“Would you believe me if I said that even getting to watch your beloved die is a blessing?”

Yusuf scoffed. “Spoken like someone who has never been in love.”

Andromache’s lips tightened into a thin line. For a brief second, Yusuf felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as the air buzzed with silent tension. Then, Andromache said dryly,

“You’re lucky I like you.”

Suddenly, a strangled shout echoed from the bedroom. Andromache and Yusuf locked eyes.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf whispered. Together, they bolted for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He'll be okay, I promise. No tragic endings in this house.
> 
> Hope everyone had as much fun with this as I did. Next update will go up on Tuesday!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolo has a particularly bad nightmare about the crusades, but luckily Yusuf and Andromache are there to help calm him down. A few days later, when Yusuf is preoccupied with his sketching, Nicolo decides to try his hand at making falafel. Andromache shows up to help, and drops a relationship advice bombshell that leaves Nicolo reeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey welcome back! TW for this chapter is mainly canon-typical violence. The Bible verse referenced at some point is Matthew 6:3, if you want to look up the exact wording.

The seventh time he’d met Yusuf during a crusade was objectively one of Nicolo’s worst memories ever. And like a well-placed curse, it had chosen _now_ to haunt him.

It had been only days after the one-on-one fight with Yusuf. To say that Nicolo was having a crisis of faith was such an understatement that it bordered on a lie. In an attempt to convince himself that yes, he _did_ serve the Church with his whole heart, and no, he would _not_ hesitate to kill Yusuf for his God, Nicolo took a cheap dagger and snuck into the enemy camp in the middle of the night.

He was silent on his feet, moving quickly and leaving no more trace than a breeze as he rustled in and out of several sets of tent flaps. Finally, he found what, or rather who, he was looking for. On a bedroll crowded at the entrance of a tent that housed several other sleeping soldiers was Yusuf.

 _Refugees_ , an irritating voice in Nicolo’s head suggested. _Not soldiers_. He ignored it. Instead, he dropped to a knee next to his nemesis and unsheathed the dagger.

The night was quiet and he hadn’t been followed, so Nicolo took a second to wipe down the blade in his hand. This was a special enemy. A special kill. As he cleaned the blade in preparation, he noticed the rise and fall of Yusuf’s chest, the way he clutched the rough blanket to his chin with both hands in his sleep. His face looked decades younger when he slept, Nicolo observed. 

Yusuf’s brow scrunched up like he was having a nightmare, and a mumble of protest escaped his lips. Without thinking, Nicolo reached out to soothe him, running a hand gently through his dark brown curls. Almost immediately, Yusuf relaxed, sighing as he slipped deeper into sleep.

 _Better just leave my hand here so he doesn’t wake up_ , Nicolo thought. He cleaned the blade for a few minutes more. With how frequently his eyes wandered to the other man’s pink, sand-chapped lips, it was a wonder Nicolo didn’t cut himself.

 _Any minute now_ , he thought stubbornly. _Any minute now, I’ll kill him and make my escape. Any minute_. Without his permission, his thumb rubbed Yusuf’s temple tenderly, coaxing a delicate smile onto the sleeping man’s lips.

 _Do it now_ , the voice in his head ordered coldly. Nicolo’s hand refused to move, his knuckles white on the dagger’s hilt. _See, you were wrong. You are too weak to serve your God. You fool, you lust for a barbarian. Your soul is already lost_.

Then, Yusuf opened his eyes, and Nicolo was truly lost. The breath stuck in his chest, whether from fear or from the startling depth of those dark eyes, Nicolo couldn’t possibly know. Yusuf’s gaze pinned his own, recognizing him almost instantly. His face softened. He brought up a hand to cradle Nicolo’s cheek, and Nicolo felt himself lean into the warm, comforting touch.

There is a Bible verse about charity that always made Nicolo chuckle; it states that a donor should be so discreet that they do not let their left hand know what the right hand is doing. 

Nicolo’s left hand was buried in Yusuf’s hair, threading through the curls as he looked down into Yusuf’s peaceful, trusting eyes. Nicolo’s right hand was on the knife.

Nicolo’s left hand moved down Yusuf’s face, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip. Yusuf gasped at the feather-light touch, tipping his head back as his lips parted and his eyes fell closed.

Nicolo’s right hand brought up the knife and struck.

 _No no no_ , he thought desperately as he watched Yusuf choke silently on his own blood, drowning in the middle of an arid desert. Yusuf, his enemy. Yusuf, his best friend. Yusuf, his love. Yusuf, his life, his heart, his God, his everything. _What have I done what have I done what have I done_ …

“ _Amore, destati. Destati_!”

“Wake up! Nicolo, you need to wake up. Nicolo!” 

“ _Amore_ , please, please wake up, please, Nicolo-”

“Nicolo, I swear to God-”

Nicolo woke with a start, gulping down lungfuls of air as he tried to regain his bearings. Rough hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him. He traced them to a woman’s face, one he recognized but could not immediately name in his confusion. On his other side, pressing Nicolo’s palm against his own chest, was Yusuf.

Panic flared in his heart and Nicolo wrenched his hand out of Yusuf’s grip.

“Get back! Yusuf, please-”

Yusuf stepped back, lifting his hands placatingly.

“Hey. Okay. Just breathe. You were having a dream, _amore_. We are in a safe house. In Greece.” He gestured to the woman sitting next to Nicolo on the mattress, still resting a hand on one of his shoulders. “Andromache, remember? We broke her out of jail, yeah?”

Andromache squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Nicolo blinked at her, and then turned back to Yusuf.

“I- I hurt you. Didn’t I?” He buried his face in his hands. “So many times. I’m so sorry. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Yusuf and Andromache exchanged a concerned glance. Slowly, Yusuf stepped back up to the bed and sat on Nicolo's other side. Nicolo flinched, but didn’t move away as Yusuf reached for his hands.

“That nightmare again?”

Nicolo nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. Yusuf brought both of Nicolo’s hands to his lips, pressing repeated, lingering kisses to them until the tension began to drain from his beloved’s body.

“Why did you come back to me?” Nicolo’s voice was barely a whisper.

“You were at war with yourself, _amore mio_. You did what your heart told you was right. I did the same.”

“Then you have a better heart than mine.”

“I know. I do. You are my heart.”

Nicolo made a sound that was equal parts a laugh and a sob. Andromache rolled her eyes, bumping her shoulder into Nicolo’s.

“Ugh. Is he always like this?”

Now Nicolo laughed in earnest. Yusuf threw up his hands in mock indignation.

“Here I am pledging my undying love to you, and this is the thanks I mmfff-”

Nicolo grabbed the front of Yusuf’s tunic and captured his lips in a searing kiss. He moved his hands into Yusuf’s hair, pulling him in even closer as Yusuf scrabbled at his shoulders for a grip. Nicolo ran his hands over Yusuf’s throat, checking for scars that were not there, drawing a soft whimper from the latter.

After a few moments, Nicolo drew back, breathless. 

“How’s that for thanks?”

Yusuf buried his face in Nicolo’s neck. “ _Ti amo_ ,” he whispered, kissing the words into Nicolo’s skin. “ _Ti amo_.”

“Never. Would. Have. Guessed.” Andromache drawled, a fond smile betraying the exasperation in her words. “Now that that’s cleared up, let’s eat. I brought grapes, snacks, and enough street food for a full meal. Come on.”

***

For the next few days, all three of them rested. Yusuf and Nicolo mostly slept, recovering from their harried journey and giving their bodies time to adjust to this new land. Andromache frequently left the safe house to spend long hours in solitude, but she always returned to them before sundown. 

Yusuf spent his waking hours sketching, experimenting with the fresh charcoals and high quality parchment Andromache had brought him from one of her sojourns.

“Stolen,” she’d confirmed without any prompting. “But don’t sweat it, that particular merchant could stand to lose some of his ‘hard-earned wealth.’ Jerk.”

Nicolo used his time to study whatever Greek literature Andromache could get her hands on for him. In the evenings, he and Yusuf would cook together, sometimes joined by Andromache if she returned early.

One evening found Yusuf particularly reluctant to leave behind his sketchbook.

“Yusuf, come on,” Nicolo entreated. “I want to make falafel from scratch. Andromache got all the ingredients last night and they’re not going to keep for long.”

“No, five more minutes.”

“You said that ten minutes ago!”

“What can I do? I’m in my _zone_. The art is flowing from my fingertips and I cannot waste the inspiration by taking a break to cook.”

“At least show me what you’re sketching.”

“No.”

Nicolo sighed. He would have to change tactics.

“Yusuf, my all. And here I thought you wanted to spend time with me. But perhaps one evening is nothing to you in the grand scheme of immortal life. If it is my beloved’s wish, then I will gladly suffer the night alone.”

Nicolo punctuated his monologue with another dramatic sigh and stood up to leave. Yusuf quickly reached out and grabbed his hand, bringing it up to his lips for a kiss without even looking away from his drawing. 

“Don’t be like that, _amore mio_ ,” he said with a chuckle. “You know as well as I that were it really your wish, I would have left this behind the first time you asked.”

Nicolo laughed, closing his eyes as he leaned down to kiss the top of Yusuf’s head.

“Can I see it when it is finished?”

“You can see it now. I have no secrets from you.”

“I’ll wait, my love. Come and join me when your muses have left.”

Leaving Yusuf to work by the golden-red light of the descending sun, Nicolo wandered into the kitchen. He drew a basin of clean water and began washing and preparing the ingredients. It was soothing work, and he welcomed the opportunity to lose himself in it.

He’d finished the washing and gotten half way through the chopping when he heard,

“Hey.”

Nicolo whirled around to see Andromache leaning against the kitchen entryway, arms crossed.

“Hello. You’re back early.”

“Early? It’s nearly dark. I had to light him a candle.” She jerked her chin over her shoulder.

Nicolo looked past her into the front room. Yusuf was still hunched over his sketchbook, scribbling away as the warm candlelight illumined his face like the aura of a saint. Andromache smiled softly, walking into the kitchen.

“Let me help you. What are we making tonight?”

They fell into an easy rhythm as they chopped and baked the falafel in two separate batches. The process was new for Nicolo, and he found he could focus better with the conversation at a minimum. Andromache, for the most part, seemed lost in thought. Nicolo was pretty sure she could make falafel with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back at this point.

As he positioned the second batch in the oven to bake, Andromache spoke.

“So, Yusuf tells me the two of you aren’t married?”

Nicolo startled, quite certain he would have burned his hand on the stone oven had she raised the question five seconds earlier.

“He told you that?”

“Well, not directly. It came up when he was breaking me out of the dungeon. I told him to leave with his husband, and he replied that you weren’t.”

“Oh,” Nicolo said, unsure how he felt about Yusuf having seen the need to clarify that.

“Nicolo.”

He looked up. Andromache’s gaze was uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Yes?”

“Have you noticed how he almost never calls you by your name?”

“What?”

“It’s true. It’s always _amore_ , or sometimes _amore mio_. Very rarely ‘Nicolo.’ But for you, it is the exact opposite. His name is always on your lips, always at the tip of your tongue. Sometimes you will say _habibi_ or ‘my love,’ but mostly just ‘Yusuf.’ Have you noticed?”

Nicolo pondered that for a moment. She was right, he realized. 

“I don’t understand. Where are you going with this?”

“Do you believe in God, Nicolo?”

“Yes.”

“I can tell. You say his name like a prayer. An invocation. You speak it every chance you get, like you want it to be your last word and every word before that. In your heart, you know no other name could compare.”

Nicolo stared at her, mouth slightly agape. This was a side of Andromache he had not seen coming. And she wasn’t wrong, exactly. He’d just never spelled it out like that to himself before.

“And Yusuf?” Nicolo asked despite himself. “Why do you think he-”

“He holds your name too sacred for speech.” The quiet surety of her statement made Nicolo’s heart stutter in his chest. “For him, saying your name is like taking his own life in his hands. You are the center of his universe, Nicolo. I’ve known you two for all of four days, and it is already as apparent as the sun. You are the air he breathes.”

Andromache paused, and Nicolo fought down a painful lump in his throat.

“Why are you telling me this?” he whispered, voice rough with emotion.

“In life, we never have as much time as we think we do. This is especially true of immortal life. I don’t know what is holding you back - unfounded fear of rejection, guilt from your past, feelings of unworthiness - whatever it is, I suggest you get over it. He is waiting, Nicolo. He will wait forever. Don’t make him.”

“He _knows_ ,” Nicolo protested, voice breaking. “He knows what he is to me. It’s been decades. He has to know.”

“He does,” Andromache reaffirmed, “and marital status can’t detract from or add to that. Love is beyond formalities and institutions. But in a relationship, self-forgiveness is also important. Growth is important. Milestones that demonstrate commitment are important.”

“How do you know all this?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Andromache’s face. “They say people who are alone are the best at giving relationship advice.” She waved a hand carelessly. “Anyway, I know a local priest who’d be willing to officiate, if it’s something you’re both interested in. Only if you want.”

Nicolo felt his cheeks flush at the prospect. Yusuf, his _husband_. It was, quite simply, a greater prospect than he’d ever dared hope for. He didn’t even know how Yusuf would react.

“Falafel’s gonna be done in a few minutes,” Andromache reminded him. “Careful taking it out of the oven, it’ll be hotter than the first batch. I’m gonna go take a bath before dinner.”

With that, she walked out, leaving Nicolo with a red-hot oven, a breathtaking view of Yusuf in the candlelight, and his own racing thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So our dude Nicolo has some things to think about. In the next chapter, he brings the matter up to Yusuf (aka a proposal happens).
> 
> I want to reiterate how much it means to me that y'all are taking the time to drop kudos and comments on this work. It's super encouraging to know people are having a good time with this, thank you <3
> 
> Next update on Thursday!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf notices Nicolo's restlessness, and he reminisces about the day they decided to turn their backs on the crusades and start a new life in each other's company. Nicolo works up the courage to ask Yusuf a very important question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! TWs for this chapter are canon-typical violence, Islamophobia during the crusades, and a bit more angst than usual (promptly followed by more fluff than usual, so hopefully that helps).
> 
> Religion vocab:  
>  _Mihrab_ \- a niche in the wall of a mosque, at the point nearest to Mecca, toward which the congregation faces to pray

The falafel was delicious, and Yusuf was sure he had indulged in entirely too much. The dinner table conversation faded into the background as that particular brand of exhaustion only brought on by a good food coma fogged up his brain. He’d nodded off several times, much to the amusement of both Andromache and Nicolo, before one of them took pity on him and suggested they all call it a night.

They retired to the bedroom. Andromache had insisted since the very first night that Yusuf and Nicolo use the mattress; despite their protests, she herself slept on a wool blanket spread directly onto the floor. 

In the several nights they’d spent together, Andromache’s sleep pattern eluded Yusuf. She always went to bed with them, but that was where the consistency ended. Sometimes, Yusuf would wake up hours before dawn and she’d already be gone for the day. Other times, she’d sleep in long after he and Nicolo had woken.

Once, when Yusuf had stepped outside in the middle of the night to get water, he’d seen her sitting in the front room cleaning fresh blood off her axe. He decided that it was better not to ask.

Tonight, Andromache’s breathing evened out in a matter of seconds. But despite his exhaustion, Yusuf found he couldn’t sleep. He pressed closer to Nicolo’s back, resting his forehead against his neck and listening to their combined breaths. He knew Nicolo’s sleep as intimately as his own, and within an hour, it became clear that the latter hadn’t managed to fall asleep either.

“Is everything okay?” Yusuf whispered. Nicolo jumped.

“Yusuf. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Why aren’t _you_?”

After a brief silence, Nicolo sighed, turning in Yusuf’s arms to face him. He hoped the darkness wouldn’t let Yusuf see the restless energy in his eyes. Andromache’s words from the kitchen rattled around in his brain, and their incessant echoes made sleep a distant impossibility. 

Yusuf, for his part, saw through Nicolo in an instant. 

“Tell me,” he pleaded softly. “You’re thinking so loud. What is it that has stolen your rest?”

Nicolo shook his head, lifting Yusuf’s hand between them and kissing the fingers one by one. Surely Yusuf imagined the way his beloved’s lips lingered a moment or two longer on his unadorned ring finger.

“ _Amore_ ,” he breathed into the space between them. Nicolo’s stormy eyes met his, and Yusuf smiled sadly. “You are always so quick to share your joy with me, but I sometimes wonder if you realize how much of a privilege it is for me to share your worry and pain, too. You don’t have to tell me. I won’t press. But I am here if you want. _Sono qui_.”

Nicolo brought his hand up to caress Yusuf’s cheek, and then leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“I don’t deserve you.”

The quiet, heavy words echoed through time, and Yusuf was reminded vividly of the day they’d decided to escape the crusades together. Two years had passed since the ghastly incident in Yusuf’s tent that continued to haunt both of their nightmares. Yusuf had more or less given up on the prospect of ever seeing his unkillable enemy again. In the event that they did cross paths, Yusuf fully intended on gutting the man like a fish and burying his remains in a sand dune. That should teach him to stay dead.

After yet another village has been razed to the ground, Yusuf and a handful of other men who’d stayed back to fight retreated to a remote mosque to rest, pray, and regroup. Unfortunately, a troop of crusaders got wind of their whereabouts. 

They attacked in the dead of night, setting fire to the house of worship and slaughtering anyone who tried to escape the blaze. Ash clung to Yusuf’s skin and lungs as he tried to find a way out. Screams ricocheted from the collapsing walls, and it became impossible to pinpoint where anyone else was. Yusuf’s eyes burned with smoke and tears. 

As segments of the roof caved in around him, he stumbled to the _mihrab_ and crouched down, touching his head to the floor and covering the back of his neck with his hands. He tried to breathe. Of all the painful, gruesome, nightmarish ways he’d died, this had to be the worst by far.

On the other side of the wall, he could just make out three or four voices. They seemed to be arguing. To distract himself from his imminent death-by-fire, he tried to decipher the words.

“-shouldn’t be attacking them here-”

“-no, you shut up-”

“-they’re all gone. They’ve all been killed, see-”

“-but why, in a house of-”

“-shut up, I said-”

“-you’ll burn in Hell-”

“-burn right now. Send him inside, if he’s so-”

“-please, no-”

Yusuf must have lost consciousness due to smoke inhalation, because the next thing he remembered was bright daylight. He staggered to his feet, clinging to a section of wall that had somehow remained standing. As he blinked the ash and dirt out of his eyes, he heard a low groan. 

He whipped his head around and caught sight of a body trapped under a fallen pillar. The man, miraculously alive, was trying very hard not to writhe in pain as he gasped out a cry for help.

As soon as he could walk, Yusuf rushed to his side.

“Hold still,” he instructed, bending down to shove his own shoulder beneath the crumbling pillar. He took several breaths, counting to three as he worked up the strength to lift it.

It was heavier than it looked, and Yusuf didn’t succeed the first time. The man beneath it cried out in agony as the full weight of the pillar pressed back onto his body. Yusuf prayed aloud for endurance.

The second time, he just barely managed to lift it, letting it roll off his shoulders to the side. He heard several joints dislocate, and clamped down on a scream as his body hastily repaired itself. When he could move again, he stood and turned to see if the other man was okay.

What he found was a very familiar crusader, face black with soot and clothes crusted with blood, warily leveling a longsword at him.

Yusuf vision tinged red with rage. The sheer audacity of this man, to threaten Yusuf with a sword after he had saved him from, if not death, at least indefinite torture! He looked around for his scimitar. If this bastard wanted a fight, Yusuf would give it to him. He would leave him to bleed out in the ruins of the mosque he’d helped destroy-

Nicolo turned the sword horizontal, resting the flat of the blade against his other palm and holding it out like an offering. He took two slow steps toward Yusuf. Then he fell to his knees, head bowed.

Yusuf stared at him in shock. After a minute of silence, Nicolo looked up.

“Yours,” he said in broken Arabic, holding out the sword. Yusuf took it from his hands, bewildered. Nicolo stayed on his knees, eyes lowered.

“I speak your tongue,” Yusuf said in serviceable enough Genoese. “What do you want from me?”

Nicolo looked up, eyes bloodshot.

“I have wronged you beyond redemption. My life is yours to take.”

Yusuf’s eyes widened in confusion and disbelief. _Go ahead_ , a cold voice in his mind encouraged. _You were planning to anyway. He would deserve it. It would be justice_.

“You do not die,” he answered instead. “Every time I kill you, you come back.”

Nicolo nodded miserably, tears streaming down his face. Yusuf wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone look so pathetic.

“Then you may kill me as many times as you want, until I stay dead or you decide your revenge is complete. I will not fight back or try to escape. I swear.”

 _He deserves it_ , the voice said again. And in a jarring moment of clarity, Yusuf told it to shut the hell up. He tossed the longsword aside.

“Your pain does not heal mine. It will take time, but I will teach myself to forgive you. I do not want to fight you any longer.”

Nicolo squeezed his eyes shut. “You have the mercy of God.”

“I do not want to fight any longer,” Yusuf repeated wearily, overcome with exhaustion. “The people I came here with are dead. I do not know where my family is or what has become of them these past ten years. I’m afraid of what I’ll find if I search for them. I wish to go far, far away from here. I want to forget.”

Nicolo stared at the ground, saying nothing.

“Where will you go?” Yusuf prompted at length.

“I- I am not welcome among the crusaders any longer. Not that I would ever go back. I will-” He looked around, taking in the barrenness of the desert, the ruins of the mosque. “I will stay here.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know. Atone.”

“How?”

“I don’t know!”

Nicolo snapped his gaze up in frustration, and despite everything, Yusuf felt his heart sink at the emotions he saw there. Before he could stop himself, he said,

“Come with me.”

“What?”

New tears welled in Nicolo’s eyes, and Yusuf’s resolve hardened. “Come with me. You are very far from your homeland. I know the area. I speak the language. We- we’ll be better off together.”

“Why are you doing this?” Nicolo asked very quietly. Yusuf got down on his knees, coming to Nicolo’s level.

“I’m not sure. We aren’t like the others. We cannot die. But we can feel pain, and the pain I see in your eyes grieves me. I don’t know why. It would-” Yusuf hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “I won’t say I am happy to have you along. But it would bring my heart peace, if that makes sense.”

“If it brings you peace, I will come with you. And you will have my utter loyalty. I will serve you in every way you require, for as long as you require.”

“I do not want your service. I seek your companionship. As an equal. Can you do that?”

Nicolo’s eyes shone with a reverence so deep that Yusuf had to look away.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Nicolo pressed his body against Yusuf’s, bringing him back to the present with a jolt. Yusuf felt his beloved’s hand tangle possessively in his hair as the latter brought their lips together and kissed him longingly. Yusuf watched as Nicolo’s eyes fluttered closed, his hands framing Yusuf’s face and tilting it to deepen the kiss.

When he pulled away, Yusuf lay motionless for a few seconds, lightheaded from the intensity of Nicolo’s touch. He was suddenly struck by how far they’d come together, by the magnitude of transformation they’d each undergone in the other’s love. Nicolo sat up, taking his hand.

“Come,” he whispered. “You wanted to know what was on my mind. Let’s go outside. I’ll tell you.”

They stepped out onto the front porch of the safe house. Nicolo let go of Yusuf’s hand and took a few steps forward into the moonlight. Yusuf watched as he was bathed in a silver glow, hands resting on the railing. The silence stretched into minutes, and Yusuf let it continue, loathe to interrupt Nicolo’s thoughts. Then, Nicolo’s lips curved into a dry half-smile.

“It’s ridiculous how difficult this is to ask you.”

Yusuf surged forward, reaching for his beloved’s hands.

“ _Amore_ , why do you hesitate? Have I ever denied you anything? There is nothing you could want that I would refuse.”

“This is different. I only want this if _you_ want it. I-” Nicolo glanced around, apparently at a loss for words. Yusuf squeezed his hands gently in encouragement. “I’ve done unforgivable things in my life, Yusuf, not the least of which I’ve done to you. And yet somehow, you’re here today, holding my hand, looking at me with that unfathomable love in your eyes. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Nicolo drew a shaky breath, and then continued, “Immortal life is a long time, but if there’s anything I am absolutely certain of, it’s that I want to spend every minute of it with you. So-”

Nicolo got down on one knee, and Yusuf’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Yusuf, my life, my death, my infinite. Will you marry me?”

Yusuf covered his mouth, hardly daring to breathe. He had been prepared for any number of things that could be keeping Nicolo awake, but this hadn’t made the list. He prayed, a little madly, that this wasn’t some dream concocted by his fitful brain.

Then, he collapsed on his knees in front of Nicolo, eyes going round with tears.

“ _Amore_ ,” he choked out, “you were hesitating so much for _this_? Of course, of course I’ll marry you, how is that even a question, of course, my love, _Nicolo_ -”

Yusuf threw his arms around Nicolo, pressing his face into his shoulder to stifle a sob. He felt Nicolo return the embrace with a watery laugh, holding him so intimately close that Yusuf forgot what it was like to have separate bodies. After a few minutes, Nicolo moved a hand up to cup the back of Yusuf’s head, massaging him gently through the curls.

“God, Yusuf, I- I’m so happy.”

“I can’t _believe_ you thought I’d refuse!”

“I didn’t! I just- I don’t know what I thought, I-”

“Shhh, _amore mio_. I love you. I love you so much. We’re going to be _husbands_.”

“Yusuf, my love. My husband.”

Yusuf burrowed deeper into Nicolo’s neck, taking a few deep breaths to recover from hearing those words from Nicolo’s mouth. He pressed a trembling kiss to his beloved’s pulse point.

“Will you be able to sleep now, _amore_?”

“I’m so happy it feels like I’ll never sleep again.”

Yusuf laughed. “Fine. Let’s just stay like this all night.”

“Hmm. No. You’ll catch a cold. Let’s go back to the bedroom. There’s a blanket.”

They crawled back into bed together and fell asleep almost instantly, swathed in bone-deep contentment. Despite Nicolo’s declaration, they didn’t so much as stir until Andromache stood over them the next day, clanging two swords together to wake them up for lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg you guys this chapter was intense to write. Next up, wedding prep, dreams and realizations, and an epilogue. It's almost entirely fluff, so if the angst of this chapter got to you, do stay tuned.
> 
> The next chapter is probably gonna be the last. We're in the home stretch, thanks to everyone who joined me on this ride!
> 
> Final update will go up on Saturday :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, a wedding happens, complete with kissing and extremely self-indulgent declarations of love in guise of wedding vows. There's also a bit of pre-wedding angst and a fun little epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I would like to start by apologizing for totally bailing on y'all for a few days there. Life happened. Got back as soon as I could to wrap this up. This chapter hasn't been proofread as much as previous ones, so there might be a couple errors floating around.
> 
> TWs for this chapter include references to canon-typical violence, but not much else.
> 
> The wedding isn't based on any specific tradition, and a grand total of zero research has gone into it; I made that part up and it's probably not at all historically accurate.

Andromache could not stop smiling, which was not great for her tough reputation. Over lunch, Nicolo had shyly updated her on the previous night’s proceedings, with Yusuf blushing like a new bride the whole time. She’d rolled her eyes; honestly, no one would ever guess that they’d been sharing a life (and a bed) for over two decades. 

But their excitement had proved contagious, and now Andromache could not wipe the soppy grin off her face as she waited to speak to the priest to finalize a date. She’d come alone as usual, relishing the solitude almost as much as she once enjoyed having company.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Andromache would trade solitude in a flash for one particular woman’s company. She’d gladly never have a second to herself for the rest of her immortal life if it meant seeing Quynh again.

In their millenia of life together, she’d married Quynh over and over, in so many scenic locations and via so many different ceremonies that after the first three or four or fifty, they’d both lost track. Each time had been an opportunity to renew their vows, reclaim each other, reaffirm the obvious: that their love for each other had never and would never cease.

But the first time, like most first times, had been special. That one, she still remembered, vividly, somatically, like a tattoo with colors that only deepened with age.

It had been radical, then, for two women to marry, but not altogether unheard of. In fact, Andromache couldn’t remember a period of history where it _had_ been unheard of. Where there were laws, there were those who broke the laws. And if laws happened to step on the toes of love, well. Love found a way. Love had always found a way. She could only believe that it still would.

“Andromache! What brings you here, my child?”

The priest had emerged from the church, and Andromache stood to meet him. As they began to discuss arrangements for Yusuf and Nicolo’s wedding, the smile melted back onto her face.

_Quynh, I won’t give up on us_ , she thought as the priest drew up a schedule. _I’ll find you. And we’ll get married again, right here, just like I’m organizing for Yusuf and Nicolo. You’ll love them when you meet them. You’ll make endless fun of them, but you’ll love them_.

The wedding was set for a week out, and said week was, predictably, a relentless flurry of activity. It began with Andromache dragging the two grooms-to-be to a local tailor’s to have their measurements taken, and then spending the better part of two hours trying to get them to decide what fabric they liked best.

“Look, it’s your wedding, you two have to make a choice,” she ordered, exasperated.

“I have made a choice! I like this one.”

“Nicolo, that color is atrocious,” Yusuf groaned.

“But the one you’re picking is not even pure silk!”

“Yes, and I happen to like the combined silk-cotton texture very much. It feels soft.”

“But it’s not _authentic_.”

“What do you think, Andromache?”

“What does it matter what I think?” she replied. “I’m not the one who has to wear it.”

“No, but objectively. What do you think?”

Andromache backed Yusuf’s choice, much to Nicolo’s chagrin. It _had_ been a more elegant color, after all. But then she’d backed Nicolo’s choice of flowers for the floral wreaths. The man had a natural eye for beauty and subtlety, just as long as it didn’t involve clothing.

“Rings,” Andromache announced one morning over breakfast. “In these ceremonies, it is a custom to exchange rings. We’re going to be spending all day at the silversmith’s shop, and you will each be selecting rings present to the other at the wedding. There’ll be a lot of downtime while the rings are being sized and smithed, so I recommend you finish writing your vows, if you haven’t already.”

Nicolo smiled brightly. “Mine are nearly done, but of course I’ll need to edit and proofread.” He looked at Yusuf across the table. “I combed language after language before accepting that perhaps no words can be enough. But I think I’ve come close.”

“Great. Yusuf?”

Yusuf’s hand had frozen over his plate. “ _Ya Allah_. Vows. Right. I will definitely, 100% be working on those.”

Nicolo gasped in mock offense. “So what you are saying is you haven’t even started yet?”

“ _Amore mio_ , it has been decades since I have taken a single breath that has _not_ pledged my life, my love, and my soul to you and you alone. I pray that will never change. If my vows on our wedding day are not to your satisfaction, I promise to try again and again, kissing new words of devotion over your heart every night for the rest of our immortal lives.”

Andromache’s cup of water paused halfway to her lips. Across the table, a grape slipped from Nicolo’s hand. They both stared at Yusuf, stunned.

Yusuf looked back and forth between them. “What?”

“Yusuf,” Nicolo said, voice rough. “Your love will be the death of me.”

Andromache cleared her throat. “Yeah. I think you’ll be fine on the vows, Yusuf. If anything, maybe tone it down a tiny bit so Nicolo doesn’t literally faint in front of everyone.”

“Hey! I won’t faint!”

“Uh-huh. You’re just lucky you were sitting down just now.”

“I can stand up just fine. Watch me.”

And stand he did, even walking around for good measure until he reached Yusuf’s chair. 

“Impossible man,” Nicolo muttered, before leaning down and kissing him senseless.

***

The night before the wedding, Andromache did not sleep. All the arrangements had been made, and they’d had a tiring last day of finalizing decorations and fixing loose threads on the wedding formalwear and making accommodations for guests and witnesses.

Despite the expected pre-wedding nerves, Yusuf and Nicolo had fallen asleep rather quickly. _They must have been exhausted_ , Andromache realized. The priest had asked them to observe a strict fast for the entire day before the ceremony, and neither had had so much as a glass of water since sunrise.

Andromache paced the living room, swinging a falchion lazily at her side. The past week hadn’t left much downtime for thinking. But now, in the silence of the night, with scraps of clothing, strewn flowers, and leftover packaging littering the front room, she let herself feel whatever feelings she’d put off.

Mostly, she ached. Memories of Quynh weighed on her heart like molten lead, burning their way through her veins and pooling in her eyes as hot, unshed tears. Every smile she’d smiled, every laugh she’d laughed these past few days came back now to demand their price. Guilt mixed with yearning lumped in her throat, choking from her the audacity to be happy while Quynh suffered alone.

It wasn’t fair, she knew. This wasn’t about her. This was Yusuf and Nicolo’s wedding, their time to celebrate and commemorate their love. She’d helped make this happen for them, and truly, she could think of no greater tribute to the woman she’d loved beyond all measure. Quynh wouldn’t want her to suffer. Quynh would be proud.

So why did it hurt so much?

She swung the falchion in frustration, cutting air with a high pitched whistle and embedding the edge in a hardened clay wall. It was perhaps louder than she’d anticipated, because a strangled cry echoed from the bedroom a few paces away.

_Fuck_ , Andromache thought, wrenching the weapon free and depositing it on the bench. She ran into the bedroom.

Both Yusuf and Nicolo were sitting up. Yusuf had wound his arms around Nicolo, locking him in an unrelenting grip as he threw a leg over his knees, practically climbing onto his lap. His face was pressed so firmly against Nicolo’s body that it didn’t seem like he was breathing.

Nicolo was running a firm hand up and down his back, mumbling soft words against his ear. When Andromache walked in, he looked up, face drawn with worry.

“Andromache,” he breathed. “Water. Can you please get him a glass of water?”

She nodded, quickly retrieving a cup from the kitchen and filling it up at the pump. 

“What happened?” she asked, holding it out to Nicolo and taking a seat. She noted how Yusuf tensed minutely at the sound of her voice.

“I don’t know,” Nicolo replied helplessly. “I think he had a dream, but he won’t talk to me. He woke up crying. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Andromache nodded again, turning her attention to Yusuf.

“Yusuf, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Drink some water, yeah?”

“Yusuf, _habibi_ , please. Listen to her. Listen to me. We’re all okay. Everything’s okay. Here, drink this.”

With some effort, Nicolo gently pushed Yusuf’s face far enough away to bring the cup to his lips, ignoring the way his own heart broke a little at the feel of the tear-stained skin against his palm.

They waited as Yusuf gulped down the water, slowly seeming to come back to himself. When his breathing had steadied considerably, he turned from Nicolo to Andromache, still clutching his beloved’s hand in a white-knucled grip.

When he raised his eyes to hers, Andromache saw deep pain writ across his face.

“You two knew each other,” he said, so quietly that she might have imagined it.

“What?”

“You two knew each other. You, and that woman. The one who is drowning in the sea. You two were like _us_.”

Andromache blinked. The words registered slowly, and then all of a sudden, like the onset of a summer storm. She brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry. She had never mentioned Quynh to them. There was no way Yusuf could have known. No way he could have seen them together, unless-

“Dreams,” she gasped, voice torn to shreds. “You dream of her. Of course.” Andromache crawled forward onto the mattress, all poise forgotten. She seized Yusuf’s free hand with her own.

“Yusuf, you’ve _seen_ her. Tell me. Please. My Quynh. You- How is- Is she-” Andromache looked away desperately, tears rolling down her cheeks unbidden. Of course Quynh was not _okay_. Quynh was drowning, alone, repeatedly, in the desolate darkness of some corner of the ocean floor because her wife was absolutely incompetent. “Yusuf, say something or I will die this instant, immortality be damned. I need to know, please. I need- Quynh-”

Yusuf reached under their pillow and pulled out his sketchbook. Andromache’s eyes widened.

“You drew- Can I see?” she pleaded. Yusuf nodded, flipping through the book and placing it between them. There, on the parchment, was the sketch he’d made of Qyunh sitting in a meadow of flowers, smiling.

Andromache ran reverent fingertips over it, overwhelmed. That was _her_ Quynh. Happy, decked in garlands of wildflowers Andromache had made with her own hands. That was the bow she’d loved, preferring it even as weapons transformed and evolved over the millennia they’d fought side by side.

She turned the page and saw Quynh trapped in an iron cage at the bottom of the ocean, lips parted in a silent scream as bubbles clouded her face. She stared and stared until a tear splashed onto the charcoal, blurring it.

“Sorry,” Andromache muttered, scrubbing at her eyes. She flipped the page. Another picture, this time of herself. She was chained to her wall, hair strewn across her face as blood dripped from her wrists.

Another page. Another sketch of Quynh. It was clear that Yusuf had taken the image he’d seen of her underwater and tried to reimagine how she’d look without the cage and water distortion. He’d come startlingly close.

“I’m sorry,” Yusuf said miserably, snapping her out of her thoughts. She’d nearly forgotten that he and Nicolo were there. 

“Hmm?” she deadpanned.

“I’m sorry for what I said the other day in the front room. When you told me it was a blessing even to watch your loved ones die. I didn’t understand. I didn’t know. Please forgive me.”

She took in the sight of the two of them clinging to each other, eyes damp with fear. Fate taunted them, she realized. For years and years, they’d dreamed of her and Quynh separately; now, the night before their wedding, these images of heartbreak and separation were forced upon them. It wasn’t fair.

“It was during the witch trials up north, about seven years ago,” she said in a low voice.

“Andromache, you don’t have to.”

“It’s fine, Nicolo. We didn’t die by hanging, so they imprisoned us to burn at the stake. Morning of, they changed their minds. Dragged Quynh away and trapped her in that _thing_. I couldn’t get out of my chains. I couldn’t stop them.” She drew a shuddering breath. “When I got free, I searched for her. I’m still searching.”

Yusuf opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. Nicolo’s hand twitched like he wanted to reach for her. Andromache picked at the loose threads on the mattress.

“With what happened to Quynh and me- I’m basically your worst nightmare, amn’t I?”

There was a long silence. Everyone stared at the floor, lost for words. Finally, Nicolo exhaled.

“Forgive us. We should not have reacted like this. I never realized how unspeakably cruel life has been to you. You are so strong. I don’t know how you find the courage to go on.”

Andromache shook her head. “It’s not courage if it’s not a choice.”

At that, Yusuf looked up.

“Andromache,” he began quietly. “I know it is not the same. And I know it can never be enough. But you’re not alone anymore.” He reached for her hand again. “Nicolo and I, we’re your family now. If you’ll have us.”

“Yes,” Nicolo said, getting up to move to her side. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I know you still search for Quynh. I believe that you will find her. And that day, Yusuf and I will be so lucky to meet her.” He lifted her gaze with his. “We will stand by you, I swear it. No matter how long it takes.”

“And for the rest of our lives after that,” Yusuf added. “You have us. We’re family now.”

Andromache squeezed his hand briefly in reply, the sudden warmth in her heart taking some of the edge off the pain. In fact, a growing part of her was starting to look forward to tomorrow’s wedding again, yearning to give these two as much love and happiness as possible. For the first time in seven years, her love had somewhere to go where it could be received and reciprocated.

She flipped back through Yusuf’s sketchbook, stopping at the sketch of Quynh in the meadow.

“Can I have this?” she asked hesitantly. “You can name your price.”

Yusuf raised his eyebrows as he leaned forward to tear out the page.

“My price is that you accept us as family _back_ and stop expecting to pay a price for something I’d happily give you out of love, Andromache.”

Nicolo laughed, and Andromache felt her lips curve up into that dopey grin she’d been trying to get rid of all day.

“Thank you.” She folded the drawing carefully and slipped it into a pocket on her tunic. “It’s late, yeah? Big day tomorrow. You both had better get your rest.”

She stood to leave. But as they adjusted, Nicolo pressed closer to Yusuf and patted the empty space on the mattress in front of him.

“Stay with us? It’s big enough for three if we cuddle.”

Andromache rolled her eyes, trying to school her face into an acceptable excuse for a frown. Her traitorous smile only widened.

“I don’t ‘cuddle.’”

“God’s sake, Andromache, get in.”

Apparently, that was all it took for her to snuggle into the space next to Nicolo, pulling the blanket up over all three of them. Yusuf, already half-asleep, gave a contented sigh and mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “do you have enough?”

Andromache chuckled. Enough what? Room to sleep? Yes. Blanket? Yes. Reason to wake up in the morning? Also yes.

She reached an arm across Nicolo and tucked a stray curl of hair behind Yusuf’s ear.

“I do, honey. Go to sleep.”

“Honey,” Nicolo snickered sleepily.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Good night, Andromache.”

“Good night.”

***

“It’s late! We are late. I can’t _believe_ you two are going to be late to your own wedding.”

Andromache’s clearly unimpressed tone echoed through the front room as Yusuf and Nicolo scrambled to get ready. Predictably, they’d slept in. The wedding wasn’t officially until noon, but that still only left them two hours.

“Where’s the flowers and stuff?” Yusuf asked, alarmed.

“Ceremony hall was decorated with them last night. Why?”

“Oh. Nevermind, I found it!” He stuck his head out of the kitchen, waving a small bouquet that had apparently been left behind. “I hid the paper with my wedding vows in here so it would smell nice.”

“ _Habibi_ , that’s ridiculous,” Nicolo judged from the bedroom.

“Not as ridiculous as you not being dressed yet,” Andromache interjected. “Hurry up. And why does your hair look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like…Yusuf, give him a hand, will you?”

“On it!”

Against all odds, they made it to the ceremony hall with a few minutes to spare. There was music and food and wine, and friends and strangers alike indulged to their hearts’ content while they waited for the main event. Andromache nodded a hello to those she recognized as she walked, Yusuf and Nicolo following close behind.

Several people had gathered in the public seating area as witnesses. By the altar, the priest smiled warmly when he saw the Andromache and two grooms.

“Ah, there you are!” he gushed. “And let’s see, Yusuf? Yes, and Nicolo? Good. Step up to the altar when you are ready. I’ll call the attendees to attention.”

Andromache put a hand on each of their shoulders. 

“Alright, this is it. I’m going to be back in the witness area, okay? Just follow whatever instructions the priest has for you.” 

They nodded, clearly a bit nervous. Andromache smiled as she walked away, feeling the portrait of Quynh rustle in her pocket. “A bit nervous” was only normal. The first time was incredibly special, after all.

Yusuf and Nicolo stepped up to the altar, and a hush fell over the room. The priest instructed them to join hands. He began reciting the ritual prayers.

Yusuf raised his eyes to Nicolo’s and found the latter staring back with deep joy and pride. His face was calm and confident, but Yusuf could feel a slight tremble in his hand where it rested in his own.

Yusuf himself was having considerably less luck holding it together. They hadn’t even started with the vows yet, and he could already feel tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. He was going to be a mess.

After what seemed like an eternity in itself, the recitation drew to a close, and the priest cleared his throat.

“In the name of your love and the God you hold sacred in your heart, declare your vows to each other on this occasion of matrimony. Nicolo, you may go first.”

Nicolo’s smile warmed, and now Yusuf could see that his eyes were damp as well.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo said, imbuing the word with so much love that Yusuf panicked. He didn’t know how he was supposed to stand up here on his own two feet against the current of his beloved’s open affection, much less sustain the coherence to deliver his own vows after.

“Words have always favored you more than me, so I begin by asking that you overlook any shortcomings in what I say. Attribute them to my mind if you must but not to my heart, not to my love, for those know no other refuge than you.”

_Great_ , Yusuf thought as the first of many tears slipped free. _Of course he starts with a completely unnecessary apology_. 

“It is my great privilege to vow today to stand with you in joy and sorrow for not just this lifetime, but also any and every lifetime I am given after that. I will find my victory in yours, and mourn your losses as my own. In wealth and poverty, sickness and health, fame and persecution, I will live and die at your side alone.”

Nicolo paused, eyes softening with vulnerability. Yusuf drew a shaky breath as tears continued to flow down his cheeks. _Get it together_ , he begged his body.

“When I had forgotten the love of God, you reminded me with your mercy. Should you ever need it, my love stands ready to do the same, to protect your faith and remind you of the greatness of your own heart. While it is not something anyone can truly be worthy of, I will strive every day to deserve your love.”

Yusuf shut his eyes momentarily, fingers tightening around Nicolo’s. _Breathe_ , he ordered himself. _Breathe, it’s okay, just breathe_. Nicolo waited until he met his eyes again.

“To you I pledge my faith, my love, my very self. Before all those present here as witnesses, in adherence with these vows and many others yet unspoken, I take you to be my wedded husband.”

Yusuf’s heart skipped several beats, and he helplessly raised Nicolo’s hands to his lips, trying to ground himself against the overwhelming weight of the moment. 

From beside them, the priest spoke again, voice notably rougher than before.

“Yusuf, you may now declare your vows.”

Yusuf doubted he could declare _anything_ intelligible at this point, much less the wedding vows buried in his pocket. But he’d rehearsed them so many times that he hoped muscle memory could carry him through.

When he looked up, he saw that Nicolo was crying, too. Instinctively, Yusuf reached one hand up to wipe the tears away.

“N- Nicolo,” he began. He took a deep breath to steady his voice. “Every vow you have taken, I reciprocate with my whole being. And to them, I add my own. I will recognize no happiness in which you cannot share. May any pain written in your fate go first through me. I will be ever vigilant against the intentions of others or misunderstandings of our own minds that may seek to drive us apart. I will protect the heart you have entrusted to me with my life.”

He paused for breath, and Nicolo looked away, tears staining the floor at his feet. Yusuf continued.

“I know you carry within you deep regret for the circumstances under which we met. Your kindness and integrity have long outweighed the mistakes of your past, and there is nothing left to forgive. Even so, _amore mio_ , you are forgiven. I will tell you that as often as you need to hear to believe it.”

Nicolo’s chest heaved in a staggered breath, and Yusuf thumbed gentle circles on the inside of his wrists as he concluded.

“Any poetry from my lips or art from my hand is first for you. My body, my heart, my soul, are no longer so much mine as they are yours. Nicolo, in the presence of the earth, the sun, and God Himself, as well as all those gathered here as witnesses-” Yusuf felt his breath hitch in his throat. “I take you to be my wedded husband.”

The priest must have said something declaring them husband and husband and telling them that they may kiss. Yusuf heard none of it, losing himself first in the look of unguarded adoration on his husband’s face, and then in the bruising pressure of lips against his, soft and scorching and salty with tears.

Yusuf curled his fists in Nicolo’s coat, kissing back with greedy desperation. He felt Nicolo’s hands behind his head and at the small of his back, holding him in place as Yusuf’s knees buckled beneath him.

If time stopped and they remained like this for eternity, Yusuf wouldn’t have an ounce of objection.

Eventually, amid the applause and cheers and stupidly mortal need to breathe, Nicolo pulled back, still holding Yusuf close. A new strain of slow, dreamy music rose from the orchestra, and in the golden light of the afternoon, guests began to gather in the ceremony hall to dance.

Yusuf and Nicolo joined them, swaying gently in each other’s arms, only occasionally breaking their silence to murmur a word or two of love to the other. Neither let go until well after the sun had set.

***

“Malta.”

“Really?” Andromache exclaimed. “Beautiful choice. Whose was it?”

Nicolo grinned. “Yusuf’s. He’s always wanted to visit there, apparently.”

“Hmm. Good taste.”

“I know,” Yusuf said, turning his head to give Nicolo a quick kiss. Both Andromache and Nicolo rolled their eyes.

It was the evening after the wedding day, and all three of them were standing out on the porch of the safe house. Andromache leaned back against the railing, smiling contentedly at the newly-weds. They’d been through so much in the past several weeks. If anyone deserved a long, luxurious, honeymoon vacation, it was them.

“Come with us.”

Nicolo’s words caught Andromache off guard.

“What?” she asked with a laugh. “You do know it’s a honeymoon, right? Just the two of you? Making love whenever you want without worrying about a third person walking in?”

She smirked as a blush dusted itself across both of their faces.

“You’ve been by yourselves for a long time,” she continued. “You can take care of each other. And there is no need to feel obligated for anything. We’re family, remember?”

Yusuf looked at her, eyes sincere.

“That is why we ask. The heart grows restless in the absence of even one person whom it loves. It feels…incomplete. It worries and yearns and enjoys no peace.”

Andromache turned away, bracing her arms on the railing as she gazed out onto the dying light of the horizon.

“Then you understand why I must return to the sea. Why I must keep looking.”

A tentative silence fell over them. After a minute, Andromache felt arms wrap around her from behind, and Nicolo’s chin settled itself on her shoulder.

“I’ll miss you.”

She turned in his arms, bringing her own up around his back and head to return the embrace. She pressed a tender kiss to his temple. 

“Me too.”

After a few moments, she extended a hand.

“Yusuf, honey.”

Nicolo cackled, and Yusuf swatted the back of his head before stepping into their outstretched arms. He sighed happily, and a little achingly.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked, voice muffled by Andromache’s tunic.

“Let’s say three years. Fair?”

“Kind of long.”

Andromache smiled. “I know. But the work is such that it demands time, yeah?”

“Fine. Three years. Then we meet back here?”

“Absolutely.”

They stood on the porch together until stars shone brightly in the speckled canopy of the night. Then, they went inside to cook dinner together one last time.

***

EPILOGUE

Yusuf ran up to the porch of the safe house, dragging Nicolo along by the hand.

“Slow down!” Nicolo protested. “You’re going to make me drop it, and I’ll tell Andromache it’s all your fault.”

Yusuf ignored him, knocking on the door while Nicolo fussily inspected the package in his pocket.

Andromache opened the door cautiously, labrys in hand. When she saw them, her face lit up like the sun.

“Welcome home,” she grinned, pulling them each into a tight hug.

As they walked inside, Nicolo announced, 

“We got you something.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Here.” He fished the small, wax paper-wrapped gift out of his pocket. She took it, her smile growing even wider.

“Is this _baklava_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it concludes, with the soft, happy, found family ending they deserve :) Thank you to everyone who gave it a read, I hope y'all had fun!
> 
> I welcome people to post their comments and questions below! Also, feel free to come find me on Tumblr as @caffeinatedbraincell.


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